


No End in Sight

by spidermilk



Category: Coraline (2009), Coraline - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Biting, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Coraline - Freeform, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, F/F, Forced Pregnancy, Graphic Description, Memory Loss, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Violence, Original Characters - Freeform, Physical Abuse, Sexual Violence, TJI Universe But Dark As Fuck, Twisted, heed the title
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-26 11:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20929787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermilk/pseuds/spidermilk
Summary: (TJI AU: Mel/Charlie Jones are separated.)Coraline’s on a vacation. Her mother goes for a walk, comes back, and proceeds to embark on a very unfortunate experience.





	1. Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, figured I’d post the self-indulgent, dark-as-all-hell noncon fic I keep adding to rather than let it fester in my notes app. 
> 
> TJI is my other work on an alternate account, the only change to that universe is that Coraline lives with only her mother when they move into the Pink Palace. 
> 
> This shares that defining trait, but oh boy, it’s the polar opposite. 
> 
> TW for rape, violence, and major character death. Proceed at your own peril.

The night Coraline leaves, I prepare to take a bath— but as the tub is inhabited by a few bugs and I’m not really in the mood to deal with them, I elect to take a walk instead. It’s a rare thing for me, as I usually prefer not to get dirt on me from outside, but I just need something to do for awhile. 

It’s pleasant out, cold as usual, yes, but not muggy. The air is crisp, the night clear, and I can see a crescent moon distinctly through the cloud cover. I shiver with each breeze that whips around me. 

Eventually, I make my way to a hilltop overlooking the property. 

Aside from the Pink Palace and its grounds, there’s another house not too far off from it, one that I assume belongs to the Lovats. 

“Shit”, I chatter, hugging my arms around myself in a vain attempt to keep warm. I really should’ve worn a few layers. 

In the center of the clearing I’m standing in, there’s a wooden circle. I thumb absently at the black key around my neck— Coraline’s ‘necklace’; she’d left it behind before going on her trip. 

It’s cold in my hand, and briefly I almost imagine I feel a sort of buzzing coming from it as I approach the odd circle in the mud. 

I bend down.

It’s a cover for what looks like a well— it’s got to have been here long before any of us had moved in. 

Curiously, I touch the dampened surface— and jolt back at the sudden impact I feel. 

I reach out again, shaking my head in disbelief... 

Nothing. It must’ve been a dislodged rock or something. 

With some effort, I manage to slide the cover partially to the side, wondering how deep the well goes. 

I don’t know what I expected. It’s a black hole into the earth, and at this hour, even with the moon shining overheard, I can’t even begin to see the bottom. 

Shuddering, I back away until I _don’t_ feel like I’m about to fall in, and rise to my feet, hands finding the key again and memorizing its grooves and ridges with a thoughtful touch. 

It seems like a good time to head back. 

The front door is a bit stiff when I go to open it, which makes my heart jump in worry, but it gives way after a hefty tug. I make my way over to the kitchen table and plop down in exhaustion.

My eyes snap open at roughly midnight, which is what the microwave clock reads. I must have fallen asleep at the table. 

A quiet shuffling catches my ear— the cat? I’d thought he was somewhere outside...

“Oh my god”, I say aloud, because there, on the kitchen floor, is something very strange. 

It’s a _hand_. 

Metal, it looks like, because of how it gleams— all sharp edges and angles. 

Shaken, I get out of my chair, not taking my eyes off of it as it scuttles into the hallway, as if it had not yet noticed me. 

It disappears into the drawing room. I follow, the black key bouncing lightly against me as I walk. 

When I turn on the light, it’s nowhere to be found, and for a moment, I think that I must’ve dreamed the whole thing. 

It’s late, after all, and I‘m somewhat sleep-deprived...

Alas, the telltale movements of the bizarre object draw my focus— the hand huddles at the far side of the room, near the little door I’d closed up awhile ago. 

“_What?_”, I murmur, perplexed. 

As if in response, the metallic hand springs into action, jerking towards me and leaping up like a rabid animal— without thinking, I swat at it. 

The back of my hand connects with the thing, my first actual proof that I’m _not_ hallucinating it. 

I grab it by the back-joint off of the floor before it can right itself. It flails in my grip, oddly strong for a disembodied metal hand.

I wonder if it’s some sort of remote-controlled thing. Then again, there’s no real room on it for a battery... 

Out of curiosity yet again, I draw out the cold key from where it rests against my skin. 

The hand-thing almost snatches it from my grasp as I bend down to unlock the tiny door in front of me, for some reason feeling compelled to do so.

It opens. There’s a space behind it. 

Which had _definitely_ not been the case when I’d first opened it.

It’s a dark tunnel, and it looks old, lined with cobwebs— normally something that would disgust me, but curiosity urges me to move forward. 

In the passageway, it’s cold, colder than it was outside, even. I clutch the spindly thing in one hand with some difficulty as I come upon another door, fumbling for the key I’d used to unlock the first.

I pull it from my pocket and jam it into the opposing exit, mind racing. 

It swings open onto... 

Bright... whiteness? 

My eyes take a second to adjust in the light, but as they do and I’ve pushed the door open fully, I notice a few things in the room before me begin to take shape. 

Looking down, a web-like structure extends beneath me. There’s no flat area for me to walk on, but I carefully step down, placing both feet gingerly onto the first foothold I can find so I can get a better view of the place. 

I look straight ahead for the first time and almost lose my balance, sucking in a breath. 

It’s a face. 

A pale, eyeless, broken face. 

_Literally_ broken — like a china doll, like something that was not meant to have ever had a real face. I take in the rest of it— thin, pale limbs and a distorted, slender body. Why on Earth is it life-sized?(Jesus. More like twice my size.)

Maybe, I think, feeling dizzy, maybe it’s a sculpture of some kind. That would make sense. More sense than it being alive. Which is how it looks, in some way, though it has no eyes. 

“Don’t be silly”, I reason aloud to myself. Of _course_ it’s not alive. That would be impossible. 

Forcibly relaxing now, I peer closer at it, eyes finally adjusted to the room’s inexplicable white glow. The unsettling figure is clearly female, with long, dark, drooping hair and sharp yet gracile features: dark-colored lips, high cheekbones, and almost skeletal in appearance. 

Unique, I muse, but mostly just terrifying. Who on earth could have built it?

Not to mention why... 

I shut my eyes for a brief second. The room’s so clinical and bright; it’s almost like there isn’t actually anything solid here apart from this web-thing. 

In my distraction, I’ve forgotten about the hand.

It squirms out of my reach, leaping forwards... and directly onto the sculpted figure in front of me. Dumbfounded, I realize that it’s an exact match for the creature’s other hand, which is at the end of one arm, bent and bone-white. I hadn’t even seen that it had been missing one.

Within seconds, it’s fastened itself back into place. 

This can’t be right. Why would the hand be a _perfect_ match? 

Why and how would it move? And if her _hand_ can move, then... 

Oh _god._

Tense and apprehensive, I freeze. I won’t dare try and rush back up, lest I slip and fall into the blank white abyss below.

Okay... I can do this. I just need to take it slow— 

My chest tightens as the creature’s head suddenly snaps forward, almost mechanically— and then the face _contorts_, moves as if it were made of flesh and bone. 

I’ve got to be dreaming.

_She can’t see me, _I reason, heart hammering away in my chest. There aren’t any eyes on that face. She can’t possibly see that I’m here. 

But then the creature hisses— a low, breathy sound— and comes to life fully, experimentally flexing her mechanical hands. 

I gasp, covering my mouth a little too late to muffle it. 

One pale arm reaches for me blindly, so I duck, muscles tense as I have to move down several notches on the web. 

“You came back”, comes her rasping voice, horrid metal claws feeling around for where my top half had been. 

I don’t respond, not bothering to question what that could mean. I just need to get past her and back through that door, back to my goddamn home planet...

“_Coraline_...”, she coos, still trying to grab me. 

What the _fuck?_

I have to resist the urge to react; I’m almost positive that she could tear me in half with those hands alone. But how... why does _she_ know my daughter? 

...I don’t have time to ponder it. 

With virtually nowhere to go, I try and sidestep her— but the creature descends to my level, easily catching my arm in a vice-like hand. 

“How long has it been, _darling_?”, she asks. “I was certain you were smaller...”

Mindlessly, I try and wrench my arm free, but she continues. “No matter. You’ve come back. And now you’ll meet your fate.” 

I stiffen, finally speaking up. “Wh—who are you?”

The grip on my arm loosens slightly, as if in shock. 

“You’re not Coraline.” 

“No, I’m her _mother_, and I want to know what— _uff_—“ 

I’m cut off as the creature pulls my arm, wordlessly dragging me down the structure.

“Hey! Stop!”, I cry, trying to kick her off of me, but that only unbalances me further as I’m torn from my foothold. 

To my horror, I fall— she lets go of my arm and lets me land below her, near the bottom of the web. 

If I hadn’t been afraid of falling to an uncertain fate below, I wouldn’t have let myself get tangled in the strands supporting me, but it’s the most secure thing I have, so I grip the wispy ropes at my sides for dear life. 

“You may not be Coraline, but that doesn’t mean you’re useless to me”, says the creature, descending slowly. 

“I didn’t mean to come here!”, I blurt as a mechanized hand reaches out to grab my arm. “I’ll leave!” 

I don’t even bother mentioning Coraline. I get the feeling this creature doesn’t have much patience for explanations. 

Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to have patience for me, either, and grabs hold of me anyway. 

I lose my composure. Flailing, I jerk back, out of reach, trying to find my footing on the spiraling strands at my feet. 

She growls in frustration, swiping at where I’d just been, and for one glorious moment I think I might be able to climb up and leave while she’s still fumbling for me.

But then I slip, jostling the web, which tells her exactly where I am, of course, and I’m powerless to stop her from catching me again. 

I yelp in panic as two massive metal hands lock themselves around my shoulders and a nasty smile spreads across the creature’s face. 

Still grinning, she drives the points of her fingers through my sweater, and I cry out again as they pierce my skin, my legs thrashing in pain.

I don’t want to die like this! 

I expect her to strangle me, or stab me in the neck, maybe tear out my heart— something gruesome— but the creature doesn’t mar my skin any further. 

Instead, I watch, shaking, as she lowers her head to my neck, baring long, white teeth before I feel her cold lips on me and two distinct pairs of fangs puncture the skin there. It stings terribly. 

Naturally, I jerk away, a _vampire_ the last thing I’d been expecting her to be, but she doesn’t linger there to draw any blood. 

I shudder violently as she traces her mouth over my collarbone and draws back. 

It’s then that the dizziness starts. 

For some reason, I can’t seem to blink very much, and a feeling of dullness begins to spread from my neck to my limbs until I feel like I weigh three tons. My fear increases tenfold; I feel even more helpless than I already have been. I can’t jerk away or move my legs as strongly— it’s what I would imagine a particularly potent roofie to feel like. 

Except for the fact that I’m still very much awake. 

I can’t form words, so I can only choke out a strained sob as the creature begins to hum, unfastening the buttons to my jeans. 

She deftly strips off the remaining clothes, letting them fall away, to my further dismay, until I’m left shivering and exposed in the stagnant space. 

I feel my face heat up almost painfully with anger and humiliation, so I cast my gaze downward— but a wiry hand comes to the side of my face, forcing me to stare ahead. I don’t even want to know how she sensed that. 

My lip trembles involuntarily. All I can think is that she’s about to rip my skin off... 

Though she appears to be blind, she goes completely still, tilting her head as if analyzing me, and if it weren’t for the slight swaying movements of her dark hair, she’d have looked like the statue I’d once thought she was. 

I’m only able to meet the creature’s eyeless gaze and try not to freak out. 

The longer I stare up at her, transfixed, the more and more nauseating and horrific my thoughts become, until I’m certain that I’ve just gone through every possible way she could kill me in the span of half a minute. 

When one of her ghastly hands appears in front of me, I tense, bracing for an attack, but it never comes. It merely grazes over my cheek in a sort of caress. 

I don’t know whether to let my guard down or not; could she simply be a curious being trying to figure out what I am...? 

But, then, why would she have _stripped_ me? 

To eat me, had been my first guess. Not a pleasant thought, but perhaps eyeless spider-demons prefer their prey without the wrapping... 

And then the hand begins to slide down my neck and _over my chest_— and I begin to understand that this creature is most likely, unluckily for me, just as self aware as I am. 

“Such lovely skin...”, she muses, and I have to will myself not to cry out as sharp fingers trace a circle around my left breast. 

Without warning, she stops and grips my shoulders again, hard. 

One of her multiple legs, thin and bone-white, detaches from the strand of web it’d been clinging to and parts the fabric of her dress in the front to reveal an odd sort of mid-section underneath. 

It’s geometrical, and reminds me a bit of an armored insect, covered with plates of layered exoskeleton. I think absently of various kinds of bugs I’ve seen before snapping back to reality at an unnerving clicking sound. 

To my further discomfort, the creature above me sneers, curling over me, and when I glance down, I suddenly feel quite sick; now protruding from her lower half is an appendage that looks faintly like... 

Oh. Shit. 

Dread washes over me. There aren’t a great multitude of uses that a creature can get out of having a fucking cock. 

“Don’t—”, I plead, trying to shake my head with no success. The effects of the bite still constrict my throat and I find myself coughing painfully. 

The creature clucks her tongue, holding a finger to her lips in a shushing motion. She crawls forward and presses her twisted, angular body against mine, ignoring my panicked breathing. 

My eyes cloud over, the beating of my heart so loud and so fast that it drowns out almost all else for a few awful seconds. 

I don’t even realize I’ve squeezed my eyes shut until something bumps blindly against my forehead— I open them and her gaunt face is touching my own. 

I’m unable to flinch away when she moves her head down to align her face with mine and latches onto my lips. Hers are cold, yet velvety-soft, and I find myself silently crying.

A particularly heavy sob nearly dislodges the creature from me, but she doesn’t let go. She’s relentless— sucking and biting at my lips as if starved. Hollowly, I’m aware of her thick tongue shoving itself down my throat. 

Panting, I only manage to jerk my head away a meaningless fraction before I feel something graze the apex of my thighs, and it’s then I realize with horror that I’m _dripping_. 

The creature releases my face and I suck in a few gasping breaths of air. 

The broad head of her cock presses against me briefly before she tenses, tightens her grip and shoves it halfway inside of me. 

Despite the sedative, I shriek— the sharp twinge of pain and the feeling of being stretched are overwhelming. She’s much larger than I could have expected, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. I feel myself constrict uselessly around her, my own treacherous slick giving her virtually no resistance as she sinks into me. 

The creature stills, mouth now pressed against my collarbone. I bite my lip in an attempt to distract myself as she sucks on the delicate skin there, sighing with pleasure as her cock slips further into my core.

It’s hard to keep quiet— my false bravado isn’t doing anything to ease the pain and shame, and I can’t prevent the whine that escapes me as she forcefully shoves herself in to the hilt with an audibly wet sound. 

Weakly, I try and lift an arm to push the creature off, but she only laughs when I brush uselessly against her front, pulling her hardened member out of me until only the head remains— and then thrusting forward in one motion. 

I choke down screams again and again, her pace quickening as she slams herself inside of me with sharp, erratic movements.

Again, the creature raises her mouth to mine, forcing her tongue past my lips while she fucks me and clasps a hard metal hand around my bare hip. My body seizes up with each impact until I have no energy left, going limp in her grasp as I’m jerked around. 

She thrusts harshly into me a final time, eliciting a pained sound from somewhere in my throat before locking in place, moaning as her cock jolts and my insides are flooded with thick liquid. 

The venom’s effects feel like they’re beginning to wear off, so in a fit of desperation, I lash out a hand, beating it against her front. I can’t let this just pool in me... 

It does nothing. She laughs, snatching my arm and canting herself further forward until the rush of fluid has all but stopped. 

Without giving me time to recover, the creature pulls herself out of me completely, sending a fresh wave of pain throughout my body.

When I finally glance up at the horrible thing above me, she’s dragging me further down again, to the center of the web. I can’t gather the strength to fight her. 

I’m only vaguely aware of her wrapping some sort of stringy, adhesive material around my body while I lie there like a corpse. 

Now, I wonder, is she going to kill me after all? 

I don’t have long to think about it. The web holding us up inexplicably begins to retract upwards, a strange sort of noise like the creaking of old wood coming from everywhere around me.

In my exhaustion, my surroundings blur, and I almost fade away into unconsciousness, not caring for my fate or how the very room around me is morphing on its own. 

When the dull ache in my core dies down just barely, my vision clears a little. 

Enough to make out the room I’m now somehow in— which appears to be my own parlor. 

What? 

I cringe at the zing of pain as I sit up on the couch I find myself on. 

If it weren’t for my soreness and lack of clothes, I’d have chalked the past seven or so minutes up to a very vivid nightmare, but when I look to a far corner of the room, the creature is still there, a dark outline, head bent as if occupied with something. 

Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with the need to escape. 

It doesn’t matter about what happened, I tell myself dizzily, I just need to get out of here alive. 

I slide my legs over the side of the couch and immediately collapse. 

With a thud, I crash sideways to the floor, and want to hit myself for forgetting about the white ropes binding my limbs together. 

Oh, fuck. There’s no way that thing didn’t hear me. 

I hold my breath for a solid ten seconds, craning my neck to try and see where she is in the dim light of the fireplace. 

The figure is still there, in the corner, but now her head is raised and she towers at her full height, nearly touching the ceiling. 

I’m unable to look away as the creature steps slowly out of the shadows. When her face comes into view, it’s different. She has eyes— or, uh, whatever those are. 

Something round and black and shiny. They don’t make her look any less unnerving. 

“I’m indebted to you, you know ”, she says as she approaches, stopping only a foot away so that she overshadows me. 

She crouches down to wrap her hands around me, and I stay deathly still for fear of being skewered. She sets me back down on the couch, running a hand through my tangled hair. I shiver in disgust and look away. 

“Whatever’s the matter, dear?” You’re perfectly safe now. I’ve done what I needed.” 

Safe. _Needed_. Her words ring empty in my head. I want to go home, away from this sick, deranged monster. I want to forget that this ever happened. 

But I’m not stupid, either. I don’t expect her to let me leave. 

“I’m glad I can look at you, now. I’ve never quite been able to use a mirror...”, she trails off, still staring at me— or at least looking in my general direction. 

Not bothering to question what that even means, I glance away, mind a chaotic jumble. 

“Fuck!”, I screech as a sharp finger cuts into my thigh. 

“Don’t ignore me!”, hisses the creature. Her expression is fierce, but it fades in a millisecond into a too-sweet smile. 

She continues. “It’s rude to ignore when one is speaking. If you behave yourself, perhaps I’ll consider untying you from those pesky restraints—“ 

I cut the creature off by jerking my head away from the silvery hand hovering over my neck, but it just moves to my head, and she curls a lip in annoyance before holding my face in place and peeling back the strings around my shoulders with her other hand. 

The bindings fall away until she reaches my lower half.

“No”, I say stubbornly, hoping l that she’ll let me keep at least some of my dignity. 

“So you _haven’t_ lost the ability to speak.” The creature looks irritated. “Well. If you’re going to be ungrateful, then I’ll let you stay like that until you need to relieve yourself. Do you want that?” 

Frustratingly, I realize that I don’t. I can’t seem to win here— if I stay bound, I can’t leave this couch for _anything_— but if I don’t— 

If I don’t, then I’ll just be left naked and vulnerable again, because I don’t _have_ the clothes that she tore off of me. 

And yet, all the same... what choice do I really have?

“Fine.” I spit, lowering my arms with some effort. 

Her broken face instantly beams with delight and she doesn’t hesitate to rip through the remaining strands with one deft claw. 

Momentarily, I freeze, afraid she’s about to assault me again, but the creature simply stares, crooked grin revealing sharp teeth, and although she has no human eyes, I can practically feel her raking her soulless gaze over every inch of my body. 

I shrink back on the couch, hug my arms to myself and try as hard as I can to pretend that I’m alone. She doesn’t say more.

Eventually, as times passes silently by, my overtired brain shuts off and I fall into an uneasy sleep, despite being watched.


	2. False Hope

I don’t dream and wake up what feels like a full night’s length later. 

Before I can even open my eyes, I grow aware of an intense pain between my legs, just as bad as— yesterday— maybe worse. 

My eyes blink open. I’m staring straight up at the ceiling. But... 

Oh, _fuck_ no. 

A muffled sound escapes me. It’s her. 

But this time, I can move even less. I haven’t been bitten, from what I can tell, but some sort of restraint is holding my neck down and covering my mouth. 

Helplessly, I try and close my legs, which only gets a satisfied hiss from above me. 

The creature moves at a slower pace then before, but it’s hardly less brutal. She slides in and out of me just as easily. 

‘Safe’ is what she’d promised me that I was, I think bleakly. So much for keeping her word. 

I try to zone it out, maybe even black out, but as soon as I shut my eyes again, one of her hands twists its way into my grasp. I bite back a squeak. 

“Did I wake you?”, the creature breathes, vice-like grip not faltering as another hand slides around my back. 

She doesn’t speed up, but doesn’t stop moving, either. I try to ignore the building tension in my core, but it’s so intense, and I’m so worn out— she apparently senses this, because she thrusts into me at an angle. 

I gasp under the binding and climax, the feeling electric, and I don’t even notice that I’m squeezing the angular metal hand of the creature above me until it passes. 

I’m still out of breath when it’s over, and I sense too late that in the heat of my orgasm, she’s spilled into me yet again. 

This time, she doesn’t withdraw herself, collapsing heavily on top of me in contentment and curling pale limbs around me, nipping the skin of my neck as if she isn’t tired in the slightest. 

I can’t help but cry for the first time in hours, trapped and afraid and _used_. 

The creature twitches inside of me and stirs up a twinge of arousal I wasn’t even aware I could still harbor, but thankfully doesn’t start up again, seemingly having fucked me into tears enough times for one day. 

I drift off almost instantly. 

When I open my eyes next, I’m alone, and under a heavy woolen blanket. 

It’s dark in the room— I’m still in this copycat parlor, but the fire has evidently long since been put out. I move my limbs experimentally; I’m not restrained. 

Of course, I’m still wary of actually _going_ anywhere. I don’t know where I am, for starters, even if this house looks exactly like my own. 

I’m still naked under the blanket, which I wrap carefully around myself before sitting up. 

It’s been more than a day at least, and I’m hungry. And thirsty. 

_And_ I need to use the restroom, whose location I do technically know, but I’m not so keen on wandering about this fake house where that creature could be lurking in nothing but a blanket and nothing to defend myself with. 

Actually, I realize, shuffling as quietly as I can down the hallway, _she_ must’ve given me the blanket. Probably so I don’t freeze to death. Or maybe she’s just trying to lure me into a false sense of—

“Mom?” 

My heart skips a beat at an all too familiar voice, but when I turn around, it isn’t Coraline that’s called me. 

Not... not exactly. 

Behind me is a girl that is the spitting image of my daughter. 

Only... she has bright blue buttons for eyes, and her hair is a few shades lighter, a bright, tropical blue with wild green streaks— something she’d asked me for when she’d first wanted to dye her hair. 

Her skin is an unnatural off-tone, her complexion pale grey. The familiar splash of freckles dots her face, but instead of light brown, they sparkle silvery-white. 

It’s what I would imagine Coraline would look like after hours of trying on expensive makeup to look like a fairy princess. 

Except for the buttons. 

“You aren’t her”, I say quietly, hoping that the odd kid’ll just shrug and go creep someone else out, but the doppelgänger just smiles. 

“Aw, don’t look so glum, Mom. Come and play with me!”

Something about the way her button eyes gleam in the low light make me extremely uncomfortable. 

Disconcerted, I turn and continue for the staircase. If Not-Coraline is just going to chant freaky things and stare at me, I’m going to ignore her. It. Whatever. 

I wince as the stairs creak under my weight, avoiding looking at the small figure still standing silently in the hallway. The strain of hauling my sore body up every step is nearly enough to make me give it up, but I eventually manage to hobble into the restroom. 

The restroom door swings open onto an empty hallway when I emerge, but something is making the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and it takes all of my willpower not to look behind me into the bathroom mirror. 

I’d taken a long and awkward drink from the faucet while I’d been in there as well, the water having an unusually sweet tang for being tap, but I guess I shouldn’t assume what to expect here. 

Not like it even matters. I need to get out of here and back to the real world, the real Coraline... 

Tiptoeing about the gloomy kitchen, I find a surprising amount of peanut butter crackers in the pantry and tear into the boxes, grabbing some sort of fruit out of a bowl on the table before sneaking back into the parlor. 

Okay. I’ve taken care of myself, mostly. I need to shower... at the thought, I find myself unexpectedly tearing up. I’ve been trying so hard to merely survive this ordeal that I’ve allowed myself to forget what that creature put me through. 

As if my body remembers it as well, the soreness returns, so much pain at once that I begin to feel nauseous. I sit back down where I’d first woken up on the couch. 

After I finish the fruit I’d grabbed (a very juicy nectarine), I glimpse the small door in the wall. 

My escape, I think, suddenly on alert, and before I know what I’m doing I’ve practically thrown myself down in front of it. It hadn’t occurred to me until now that this might be my chance to leave. 

Come on, please...

Damn. Locked. 

I feel frantically around my neck, just now noticing the missing key, which, in hindsight, the creature had probably taken long before now. Maybe she has it hidden somewhere.

A flash of movement in the doorway catches my eye from where I’m kneeling on the floor. 

It’s Coraline’s doppelgänger, peering around the corner at me like a giddy toddler. 

“Can I help you?”, I say exasperatedly. 

“Just checking on you, Mom. How are you feeling?” 

I frown. “Let’s get something straight. I’m not your mom.” She tilts her head quizzically. 

“And I’m _not_ going to talk to you.” 

Fake-Coraline looks hurt. “Please? I’m only worried about you.” 

I look away. She can’t be worried about me, she doesn’t even know me. She’s just some bizarre copy of my daughter somehow related to the cruel and frightening creature that’s keeping me here. I’m not even sure I’m not hallucinating her. 

“I know you aren’t my mother”, the girl murmurs after a moment, walking closer until she’s right next to me. “But you’ve met her, haven’t you?” 

Slowly, I meet her blank gaze. Of course, she’s talking about the eldritch spider-monster herself, but somehow I doubt that they’re actually related. 

The doppelgänger seems to read my mind. “_The Beldam_... she created me. That makes her my mother.” 

I shudder at the ominous name and fake-Coraline’s implications. A heartless creature that not only assaulted me and is currently keeping me captive against my will, but one with the power to create life, no less, like some sort of disgraced and fallen god? 

This situation just gets worse.

“Shit.” I shake my head. I almost feel bad for this odd girl. “She may have made you, but I don’t think she’s capable of love or motherhood, that’s for sure, no offense”

Fake-Coraline frowns, then nods sadly. “Yes, that’s why I came to you instead.” She chews a fingernail. “But if I am not wanted here, I will leave you in peace...”

She begins to turn away, but I catch her hand. 

—And then drop it as if burned, thinking of being held down by that creature, and settle for getting to my feet and placing a hand on her arm. 

“It’s alright. I’ll talk to you. I’m sorry.” 

And I do.

The button-eyed kid sits on the floor and listens to me for what seems like an hour, nodding or making small noises of acknowledgement as needed. I tell her about my real daughter, and the move, and my divorce, even. 

I don’t recount the rapes, mostly because she’s a kid— or at least looks like one— but also because if I do, I fear that reliving them will make them too much for me to bear. I’m already ignoring the incidents as much as possible, the last thing I need is to experience them all over again.

Eventually, I go silent, exhausted from talking and worrying, mostly about Coraline. I’m happy she hasn’t come looking for me here yet, but what if she does? I can’t protect her here. 

“Thank you for talking to me”, says the doppelgänger, rising from the floor. “You had quite a bit on your mind, hmm?” 

I nod. “Thanks for listening. I really needed to get that out.”

The girl smiles, and my heart aches at the adorably familiar crooked-toothed expression before she turns and leaves. 

Creepy she may be, yes, but some things remind me too much of my real daughter. 

With no sign of her, the ‘Beldam’ creature, or any other button-eyed things, I let myself relax a little. I curl back up onto the couch, and then I stand, choosing instead a dark-looking corner of the room to lay down in. If the creature doesn’t find me immediately, she might make enough noise to wake me up before she does, and being a bit less comfortable makes that very much worth it for me. 

The next ‘day’ is just as uneventful; I wake up alone, venture into the kitchen and dig out some easy food, and look over my shoulder constantly. Coraline’s doppelgänger doesn’t return until I get back to the parlor. 

“So, you’re back”, she observes, moving silently into the room a minute after I sit down. 

I wave, just having come back from the kitchen for a drink of water. “Mm. I’m just thinking about how I’m going to get out of here.” 

The doppelgänger nods from the corner of my eye. “Worried about Coraline?” 

“Of course. It’s not that I don’t think she can handle herself, but if she comes here...” 

“Are you afraid that she’ll find you?” 

I shake my head, turning to look at fake-Coraline. 

“No. I... I’m just afraid that she’ll get hurt if she comes here. If that creature comes back, I won’t be able to protect her. I’m hardly a match for your... creator.” 

The doppelgänger opens her mouth to respond, but then bursts into a coughing fit, making me jump. 

My eyes widen as I watch most of the color fade from her hair into a reddish-brown, then flashing black as she hacks up her lungs, before going back to its previous bright hues. 

“Jesus. Are you ok?”, I ask, taken aback. 

She’d seemed fine up until now. Come to think of it, I hadn’t really thought she was the type of thing that could get sick. 

Uncharacteristically, the girl throws up a hand and makes a wildly dismissive, almost bothered gesture, still coughing, and nods violently. 

Somehow, I doubt that she really is perfectly fine. 

She recovers after a moment and then looks to me, brows knitted together momentarily before shaking her head. 

“Well, no, actually. But you wouldn’t understand...”

“No— tell me. I’m listening”, I insist. Her skin looks more paper-white than her usual silver-white, and it’s truthfully a tad concerning. 

“To put it simply”, begins fake-Coraline, “Since I was made in the image of someone you know, I’m going to wither away if I don’t have— er, someone like me.” 

I blink in confusion. 

“What I mean is, since the real Coraline has real friends her age, and I have no friends like that here, a part of me will forever be missing. I am incomplete and therefore I will wither.” 

“Oh”, I reply. “So you could actually die of loneliness? Isn’t there anything we can do about it?” 

The girl pauses at that, looking down at the ground, but for the briefest of instances I almost think I see a bright gleam in her button eyes.

She nods. “I can’t leave this place, but maybe you can. Maybe you can bring someone here...”

“No.” I cut her off abruptly. 

As terribly as I feel for this poor, haunted being, I won’t endanger my own daughter to save her. God, this kid doesn’t deserve to waste away. The whole thing makes me hate that awful creature all the more for subjecting her to a doomed existence. 

I shuffle in my seat, feeling guilty. “I can’t bring Coraline here. Besides, I don’t have the key. And I’m sorry, but I won’t risk her life, she is my daughter, after all. I wish I could help you.” 

I swallow. “Really, I do.” 

For a moment, the girl says nothing, but then nods. 

“Don’t worry yourself on the subject. I simply wondered if there were anyone else you could bring here for me to see, but I hardly expect you to risk Coraline’s safety just to help me. I’m not your daughter, you’ve said it yourself... I understand.” 

I don’t respond right away. 

There _is_ someone else nearby— Coraline’s friend, Wybie Lovat. 

If she really only needs to see him, just meet him briefly, then maybe I can help this girl, even if it doesn’t guarantee I’ll escape from here. 

I’ll be able to do _something_. 

“What, have you thought of something?”, she asks, noting the small smile on my face. 

“Coraline has a friend that lives nearby. He’s a sweet kid... if you could just meet him, you’d be okay, and maybe he won’t even have to come all the way through the door!” 

The doppelgänger perks up instantly. “That’s wonderful! But how will you send for him? The rats?” 

“We could try that? Doesn’t your creator use them for that sort of thing? Perhaps I can convince one to help us somehow.” 

She doesn’t shoot me down, to my surprise, nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll attract one to us. They’ll understand your words, though they can’t exactly speak.” 

With that, she hops up and darts into the hallway, leaving me to wait on the couch and hope that we’re not discovered before we can carry out the plan. 

I’m still on guard for that creature to come back. _Maybe_ she’s left for good, yes, but maybe she’ll come back to check that I’m here, I really can’t say. I can only hope that I get the chance to help save the poor, lost girl she’d made from fading away before anything else. 

Fake-Coraline returns only a couple of minutes later with a particularly large and mean-looking rat in tow, scampering at her heels like a trained dog and dragging its naked pink tail along the floor behind it. The girl sinks into an armchair and pats her leg, openly holding a cracker in her other hand. 

“Madam, would you be so kind as to take this message—“, she pulls out a crumpled note from her pocket, “— to the boy it’s addressed to?” 

Despite its unfriendly appearance, and to my awe, the rodent nods its scruffy head, taking the paper in its teeth and running to the door. 

“Wait, how will it get through without the key?”, I pipe up, suddenly recalling a very crucial detail. 

The girl looks a little surprised, but then smiles calmly, taking it from her pocket. My mouth drops open. 

“I found it when I went looking for a rat. Lucky me!” 

“Really? That’s perfect! Where was it?” 

“Under a floorboard! I heard it clanking around when I stepped on a loose one.” 

She unlocks the door, and my heart surges— this is my way out! 

“After Wybie comes— if he does come— I’ll finally get to leave”, I murmur, half to myself. 

“Of course. And how noble of you to make sure that our plan succeeds before escaping. I greatly appreciate it, you’ve been far too kind to me...”

I move forward towards the lanky girl, giving her a small, brief hug before letting go. “You don’t deserve to die because your own creator won’t take care of you. No child deserves that.” 

She nods, smiling, and closes the tiny door after the rat disappears through it. “Now all we must do is wait.” 

At some point during the hours afterward, I fall asleep on the couch, feeling just a bit safer with the button-eyed girl in the room with me. 

I’m not sure how long I’m out for, but the first thing I hear is the creak of a door. 

“You slept nearly ten hours”, greets the doppelgänger. “Plenty of time for our little friend to deliver the message.” 

She coughs, face falling for a moment and hair flashing like a broken computer screen before regaining her composure, though her voice rasps. “I hope Wybie is kind.” 

“He is. Coraline can’t stand him half the time, but they’re like two peas in a pod.” 

As if summoned by mention of his name, a curly brown head of hair pops out from the door, Wybie’s worried face glancing around the room before spotting us. 

“Ms. Jones? What are you doing h— where’s Coraline?” 

Frowning, I glance at my companion, who doesn’t answer. “On a trip? This... this girl actually needs your help, not Coraline. Sorry, Wybie. It’s a long story.”

“Oh... well, okay, I mean, that’s not really what the letter said...” , he trails off, looking at the girl next to me for the first time. “Oh my god. Um, Ms. Jones, I think you should come back with me— right— right now!”

Why is he so freaked out? Sure, the button eyes are off-putting, but it’s almost as if he knows something I don’t. 

Fuck. Does he? 

When I get up to try and explain who the girl is, I find that she’s already standing up. 

And up. And up. 

Oh, hell no. 

“Get out of here!”, I screech to Wybie, but the poor kid doesn’t budge, staring frozen at what is now obviously _not_ Coraline’s innocent little doppelgänger. 

Like lightning, she slaps my hand away as I reach for the key in hers, and I watch, beyond horrified, as the bones of her hand stretch and morph into the dreaded silvery joints. 

“Is... is that the _other mother_?”, squeaks Wybie, and before I can even begin to wonder what he’s talking about, the creature rushes at him. 

“No!”, I shout, running for the kid. 

She skids to a halt in front of the door as Wybie dodges her and darts behind me. The creature smirks cruelly at me before locking it. 

“You tricked me!”, I yell. 

From behind me, Wybie hesitantly takes my hand in his small gloved one. I feel him trembling through the leather and give it a reassuring squeeze. 

“How easily you believed in the most ridiculous story!”, mocks the creature. “I was certain you wouldn’t be _that_ desperate to go against me, but it seems that any way of spiting me would do for you. Too bad I never created an _other Coraline_.” 

“She tried to keep Coraline here too”, whispers Wybie. “Coraline told me.” 

I suppress a shiver at that, looking up at the creature. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but you fooled me. It’s done with.” I gesture to Wybie. 

“Let him go.” 

The creature coughs, nearly doubling over with its intensity, and I narrow my eyes; why would she still be keeping up _that_ charade? 

“You simple woman. Why would I go through the trouble of bringing a child here if it weren’t for a purpose? I wasn’t lying about needing his help...” 

A cold shock goes through me. 

“Don’t you dare hurt him. You can do what you like to me but I’ll be damned if you try and hurt this kid.” 

“Oh, it won’t hurt, dear. The departure of one’s soul is quite peaceful, I can assure you”, she replies, wicked teeth glinting in the low light. 

Wybie gasps, and I get the feeling that he knows more than I do, yet again. 

“And besides”, she continues, taking a step towards us, “You said it yourself. You don’t stand a chance against me.” 

She grins, and I want to scream at her for her earlier manipulation. Yet I know that she’s right. 

Well, she may be right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and stop her. 

I turn to Wybie. “When I move at her, you run. Find somewhere to hide. Got it?”, I whisper.

The boy nods, peeking out from behind me to look at the creature before I turn as well. 

She smiles again, her button eyes seeming to light up. “Oh, here you go with your misplaced heroics—“

I let go of Wybie, ignoring her taunt. 

Against my better instincts, I step forward, but before I can try and grab the key or push her away or do _anything_, something trips me. I catch myself painfully with my arms and land harshly on the floor. 

The blanket I’ve tied around me comes undone, and I pull it hastily over my body, the panicked urge to cover myself instinctual.

When I look up, she’s across the room, the kid’s arm in her grasp. I scramble to my feet in a panic. 

Wybie shrieks, flailing around in a frenzy, but I have no time to get to him before the creature ducks out of the room, dragging him with her. 

“No! Get away from him!”, I yell, stumbling after her into the hallway. 

But the hallway is empty. I’m alone. 

“Fuck. _No_”, I whisper. 

Though she’d planned to lure that kid here already, I’m sure, I can’t help but feel responsible. 

It wasn’t even about that, I realize, it was about messing with my head— she’d gotten what she wanted, but she’d fooled me into thinking that getting the kid here was a good thing. False hope. 

God. I stare into the hallway mirror, defeated. 

_There’s nothing you could have done_, soothes a small voice in my head, but it does nothing to prevent the steady flow of tears that come afterward.

After a minute of hiccuping and wiping my face with the blanket, I get up, heading into the kitchen. 

It’s dim, cold, and fucking _creepy_ in here, but I need a distraction. 

The tap water doesn’t wash away my guilt but it helps to quench my thirst. There’s tarragon chicken salad in the fridge, looking fresh-made and very appetizing, but I don’t have the stomach for anything, so I close the door and shuffle into a chair. 

Jesus. 

I should be _doing_ something.

I get back up and head for the stairs to the second floor of the house, desperate to make some sort of plea for the kid’s life, to do something, anything... 

I bump into someone when I reach the top. “Wybie?” 

But he doesn’t answer. 

I back out of the shadow he’s standing in and wait until he does as well. 

And I nearly gag. 

He’s shaking like a leaf and covered in blood— his face has a deep, jagged cut on one side just under the cheekbone, but the worst part is his eyes. 

They’re missing. Torn out. 

In their place are raw, bloodied holes, and several broken black strings dangle from tiny incisions around them. 

I grab the railing behind me for support. 

“I c—can’t see... please...” 

I swallow my nausea and go to embrace him when something yanks him away from me and my hands close on empty air. 

“I haven’t finished yet. Don’t be difficult—“, comes the harsh voice of the creature, taking no notice of me, and I find myself lurching forward into the shadows after them. 

But she knocks me into the wall with one swing of her hand; I narrowly avoid slamming my head into it. 

I try to stand, clutching the blanket around me for stability and looking right up at her. 

“STOP IT! Leave him alone! Whatever you’re doing, do it to me instead and let him leave!” 

She laughs. _Laughs_. 

“How very _sweet_ of you, pet, but I’m almost done fixing him up.” The monster ushers Wybie toward the center of the hall and turns back to me. 

“And besides, I don’t quite feel like throwing away my new plaything just yet... I certainly don’t want to kill _you_...”

And without another word, she pulls down the stairs to the attic, dragging Wybie, who’s gone silent now, up it, slamming the door. 

I break down in tears. 

It’s barely been five minutes when I hear a muffled scream from the room above me, and I struggle to keep the bile in my stomach from spilling out of my mouth in revulsion. The kid screams for a solid two minutes before stopping, and I feel sick again, fearing that she may have killed him. 

The door opens from above me. I glance up to see Wybie, descending the ladder by himself with his back to me as he does so. 

“Wybie!”, I gasp, running to help him down. “Oh god, honey, what did she—“ 

I bite back a scream. 

Just like the creature that marred him, Wybie Lovat stares up at me with round black buttons for eyes. 

There’s almost no other trace of damage on his face— the creature must have cleaned him of blood, but the gash on his cheek still remains, though it’s been closed neatly with rows of black stitches into the skin. 

I cover my mouth with a hand. 

“Oh, Wybie. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry...”, I gulp. I don’t want to cry and make him feel worse. 

The kid looks dully ahead, as if spaced out. “I’m not scared anymore, Ms. Jones”, he says plainly, walking past me and sitting at the edge of the stairs. 

“What do you mean? Aren’t you still... in pain?” 

“I don’t know.” He looks sad, but something about his voice sounds empty. “I don’t think it’ll matter much any longer.” 

A sharp wooden creak from behind me makes me whip around. The attic door is closed, but it the darkness of the hallway, I can clearly make out the outline of the creature. 

I chance a glance back to Wybie, but he’s gone when I turn around. 

“You won’t likely be seeing him again”, she says, stepping closer. 

I refuse to shrink back. “What the fuck did you do to him?” 

I see her face contort with fury in the light. “Don’t you speak that way to me! You’ll see in due time!” 

Scornfully, I turn and flee, clambering down the stairs and trying not to trip over the blanket fluttering around me. I’m aware of her clicking steps behind me, following me down until I dash into the hallway in search of the mutilated kid. 

“Wybie!”, I shout, crying out as a hand snags in my hair and I feel my legs slip out from under me. 

But from the floor, I see the kid— he’s standing in front of the mirror now. He reaches out to it... 

...And steps through. 

Something about the way his silhouette seems to fade into a dull blue glow makes my insides twist. 

I feel the strangest thing in the air moments after: it’s sort of electric, but then I hear the whisper of what feels like three— no, four different voices at once. The last whispered words sound eerily like Wybie. 

Did I seriously just witness a kid die? 

This kid, this poor, gentle, innocent kid that I knew, that my daughter knew— that she was friends with... 

“No...”, I choke, thrashing my head to free my hair from her grasp. 

She doesn’t let me go, yanking me up by it so I’m forced to stand. I shriek, and even through the sound of it I’m aware of the surge of energy I feel around the creature, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

“Do you know what this means?”, the creature asks, now pulling me back into the parlor. 

“It means that my hours aren’t numbered any longer. It means”, she goes on, forcing me onto the couch, laughing, “That you’re never leaving!”


	3. Fascinating

Like a cornered animal, I lash out, kicking and punching wildly until she catches one of my arms, grinning wickedly as she reaches for the blanket tied around me. 

I try and wrench her hand away, but she’s stronger, and the blanket soon slips from my shoulders to expose bare skin. 

I shrink back, curling into a ball, yelping in pain when the creature jabs a sharp metal talon into my arm. 

Reflexively, I grab at my own shoulder with my free hand, and she takes that opportunity to push my legs back down, press a hand to my stomach, and shove me on my back. 

Try as I might to sit up, her weight is crushing, and I can only try and kick at her as she crawls over me.

She doesn’t align herself with me, however, so I don’t expect it when she moves lower, keeping one hand firmly against my middle and grabbing one of my legs with her other one. 

Realizing her intent, I quickly try and close them, but her long, clicking fingers wrap themselves around my thigh and force it to the side, her body curling impossibly further, like a backwards scorpion as one of her many legs comes to pin mine to the couch. 

She does the same with my other leg, and when I try and move them, I wince— hers threaten to pierce my skin if I move any further. 

The creature grins, not breaking my gaze with her blank eyes as she moves her head down. I look away. 

I hiss when she plants her mouth on my skin, not waiting for a reaction before thrusting her tongue into me. 

It doesn’t hurt, not like it did when she was violating me earlier, but my eyes scrunch closed all the same at the sensation of her moving it inside of me. 

Rhythmically, the creature forces it in and out, waiting until I’m overtaken by the sensation before removing her hand from my stomach. I hardly take notice, trying to concentrate on not reacting. 

The sharpness of her legs is lifted and she replaces them by gripping her hands snugly around my thighs, her tongue still slithering within me before she withdraws it, dragging it roughly over my clit. 

The sudden stimulation makes me jerk in her grip, and she alternates between pushing her tongue into me and back out over the sensitive bundle of nerves, continuously sucking every inch of delicate skin until I finally reach my limit. 

I cry out, muscles tensing as I climax. The creature holds her mouth against me, drinking me in until I stop convulsing and she pulls away wetly. 

Despite my exhaustion, I grab the side of the couch, ashamed, trying to drag myself away. She tsks, pulling me back to my place and climbing over me fully. 

I sob into the crumpled blanket next to me, covering my face with it, so many emotions battling it out in my head. 

I hate her. 

I really, really hate her. I hate her for doing this to me, I hate her for killing my daughter’s best friend, I hate her for making me believe I had a chance of escaping. 

And I hate her for making me scream, not just in fear, but in ecstasy. 

A disgusting, treacherous feeling— from a creature who’s clearly incapable of love and who relishes only in power. In winning. 

When she moves again, I sob half-heartedly, expecting her to continue causing me pain, but she only leans down to kiss me. 

I let her, worn out from the things I’ve just witnessed and the things she’s done to me. I can’t even muster up any nausea at the faint taste of my own fluids on her lips. 

Like before, she forces her tongue nearly down my throat, sliding it over my own and then pulling back. 

I don’t move my head when she gets off of me. I close my eyes and can’t even remember the moment I drift off into blackness. 

__________________

“Mom?” 

I can’t move. Can’t breathe. 

I’m so cold. What’s going on? 

My body trembles violently at the piercing, unnatural wind of the room. It’s almost as if I’m suspended underwater— or in outer space. I can hardly stand. 

Coraline is here. 

Not in here with me, that I’m aware of, but I know she’s... close. All I can think of is escaping from here and wrapping her in my arms. 

How did I get here? How did this happen? 

And then I snap almost awake— this isn’t a dream, but a memory. 

A memory I hadn’t known I’d lived through— how? 

Lucid now, the chilly place fades away and I’m back in my own kitchen on the very day we’d moved in. 

I’d been unbelievably stressed out then— we’d been sued for a car accident that the driver ahead of me had intentionally caused. 

For Christ’s sake, he’d nearly killed us, the bastard— and all for some money. I’d rear-ended his massive truck and he’d run us nearly dry of money, especially detrimental to me after having to deal with my hospital bill. I’d just been grateful that Coraline had made it out untouched. 

As I watch myself talking to her, a pang of guilt goes through me. I’d snapped at her, been cross with her quite a few times in those days— it was no wonder she’d gone off and broken my snowglobe. I don’t blame her for being angry. 

Thinking about her brings me back to my own new and crushing reality. 

Is this a punishment, I wonder hopelessly, for how I’d been to her? 

I’d tried to make up for it with a gift and a party, and things had calmed down, but had she ever really forgiven me? 

What’s she doing now? 

Shudders travel down my spine at the thought of the creature keeping me here finding her. 

God, don’t let Coraline try and find me here. Let her look elsewhere. Let her... 

Let her give up. This is clearly hopeless for me; there’s no end in sight to my stay here. Coraline’s tough— she’ll move on eventually. 

She has to. 

__________

Dreadful things, rats are. 

I mean _really_.

They’re ungroomed, mangy and rank, with no sense of pride about themselves— just unpleasant little animals to swipe out of the way. They don’t even bury their droppings. 

All excellent reasons to dispatch of any I happen to come across. 

I haven’t seen rats around here since Coraline did away with the whole Beldam business a short while ago, and it does worry me to see one again. 

Mind you, this one doesn’t have buttons for eyes, but seeing such a large and unwelcome thing is cause enough for chase. 

I kill it swiftly —atypical of me— but my own nervous tension takes the fun out of the game of cat-and-rat. 

Why it’s in the middle of the Palace, I can’t fathom. I drag it outside and promptly eat its liver. 

Night falls. After I’ve cleaned myself up, I head inside to look for Mel, Coraline’s mother. I could use some company, now that Coraline’s gone on some school function. 

But the woman isn’t in her bedroom— nor is she in the bath, and nor is she in the house.

My worry grows, gnawing at my belly like hungry maggots. Where could she have gone off to? Her car is still here. Which means... no. 

_No!_

I run into the parlor and curse at my own stupidity. 

The door, _the_ door, is open. 

Every alarm goes off in my head at once. She’s escaped... She’s not defeated. 

And somehow, she’s managed to snag an entire adult woman from this world— not for the first time, I remind myself— but how, being so weakened?

Then I realize that I can feel the rifts again: those dimensional tears that I so often used to investigate her world. Something must have happened— she’s gained her old strength back in record time. 

Still standing stiffly in the doorway, I leap up onto the dusty couch, feeling every hair prickling with fear. I can’t just walk on in without knowing what I’m up against. 

The only way for her to have done this, I force myself to think about with a sickening jolt, is for her to have taken another soul. 

Heavens above... Who had withered away to sate her now? 

__________

I don’t wake up in the parlor. 

When I open my eyes, at first, I see the familiar stripes of my own room’s wallpaper, and feel my lungs tighten in hysterical relief; had it all somehow been an elaborate, vivid nightmare? 

But as my eyes adjust, I notice that the walls, while indeed striped, aren’t their normal brown-tan pattern, but bright pink and yellow. 

They’re so vibrant and cheerful that the sight makes me physically nauseous. 

I’m... still here. 

Accepting my reality, I take in the room in its entirety. 

It’s closed, for one, and I’ll bet that it’s locked as well. She wouldn’t want me running off, I’d imagine. 

Besides the garish colors, my bed is higher, the mattress made of something like memory foam and the pillows wrapped in silk cases. The floor is a dark rusty red. I step down onto it and notice that I’m wearing a purple robe, soft and well-fitting. 

Great. Wonder how that got there. 

Internally, I want to both cry and shout in outrage at the situation, but I find that I’m just too exhausted despite feeling so surprisingly well-rested. 

It’s no surprise that my bedroom door is, in fact, locked. Still, I jostle the knob as quietly as I can, hoping for some slim chance that it’ll open, but it doesn’t budge. 

My bathroom is still accessible, though, so I head straight for the shower, a little worried that the water’ll scald me or turn out to be something disgusting— but it’s fine. 

I close the bathroom door, which, no, doesn’t have a lock, and turn on the water, intending to be hasty. 

As soon as the stream hits me, warm and soothing, I break down in tears— everything that I’d kept in throughout my experience, I suppose. 

After a minute, I sink down and let the water enshroud me as I sob— silently. I don’t want anyone or anything to hear. I could shower as long as I liked and I’d never wash that creature out of me. 

How... how am I going to deal with this?

I’m just one person up against a— a something— a very malicious something that could easily kill me if she wanted to. And I’ve got absolutely no chance, in both my words and hers, of beating her. 

It’s been what, three— maybe four days? It’s hard to keep track. What’s Coraline going to think? Is she okay? She’ll have gotten back by now— oh god. 

My stomach lurches at the realization that she already knows I’m gone. What if she comes looking?

Oh, no... what’s Mrs. Lovat going to do? Her grandson is gone— he’s dead, and she doesn’t even know it. I couldn’t even prevent it. 

Would she blame me? 

A sharp knock at the door makes me bite back a curse. I hurriedly switch off the water and almost fall over grabbing the single towel in the room, scarcely wrapping it around myself, still soaking wet, before the door opens. 

For just a moment, I’m not sure who—or what— has just entered, but it’s the same sort of face, though it’s not the strange, porcelain creature I remember. 

She’s so uncannily human-looking now that even her bitter presence is momentarily comforting to me, but then I notice a crucial detail and recoil inwardly at the empty stare of the familiar button eyes. 

She chuckles. “Humankind really does fascinate. What is it about warm water that you find so appealing? Do tell.”

I adjust the towel, wishing I’d thought to find a razor or something in the case that she’d come in like this. It’s tough to steady my shaking hands. 

When I don’t respond, the creature purses her lips, making a face like an impatient mother before reaching forward in one long step and grasping a claw-like hand onto my head. 

Before I can react, she pushes down so that I slam against the wall and crumple to the cold floor, slumping against the side of the tub and clutching weakly at my towel. I’ve run out of tears, I find, but I have to bite my tongue to keep from wailing in pain at the impact. 

Why did she have to do that? 

The creature remains standing above me, hand still hovering over my head, and it takes her several seconds of total stillness before she sighs curtly and leaves the room without a word. 

It’s only then that my useless tears return to me. 

I remain in my room for the next two or so days, finding food laid out for me when I wake up and after I leave the bathroom— it’s always something appealing, but I hate eating it. I hate that I don’t want to not eat, but I owe it to my daughter to stay alive. So I will. To be honest I’m not sure that I could have the courage to off myself even if I didn’t have a kid. 

She doesn’t come for two-ish very lucky days— not to say that I’m not paranoid about it every waking minute. 

I awake mid-sleep to a figure in my doorway— different, again, and close to my height: the most human-like I think she’s ever looked— but I know that it’s her. 

In the pitch dark, being half-asleep and terrified as she begins to approach, my brain goes into panic mode. I roll off of the bed and crawl under it, breathing hard. 

“Aww, are we playing hide and seek, darling? Ready or not...” 

I feel a hand grab my ankle and I yelp, trying to kick at her, but she grabs my other leg and drags me out from under the bed with ease. 

Writhing, I scramble away and to my feet next to the bathroom door, backing towards it. 

I can hear the frown in her voice, which is dangerously quiet. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I found you fair and square.” 

“I never asked to play any game with you”, I fire back, reluctant to speak to her as if she’s a person.

I know the horror she’s hiding under that pretty human-looking face. 

The gleam of her teeth and button eyes when she smiles in the near-dark room makes her look positively vicious, but she doesn’t come any closer. She just stands there. 

“You don’t scare me”, I lie.

”What a relief! And here I had thought you didn’t like me!” , she chirps, and in one swift motion, she lunges, grabbing my arm as if in a wild dance and swinging me with unnatural strength until I fall back against my bed, back hitting the edge at a painful angle. 

Knowing she probably wanted me there, I scramble up and onto the covers, trying to crawl to the other side and off of it, but somehow she’s standing close enough to grab my arm again, grip unrelenting as she forces me to stay still. 

I recoil, squirming like an animal in a snare, but the creature chuckles, pushing me onto my back with little to no effort. 

“Please don’t”, I say, voice shaking. 

It’s too much. I can’t do it again. I just can’t. 

The inhuman woman leans over me, a slight smile constant on her face, and the walls seem to close in on me as I wait for her next move. 

Oddly, as she lays down on top of me, pressing me into the mattress, she moves slowly, methodically, completely unlike before.

Her grip is firm, but not harsh on my wrists, which she lets go of to slide her cold hands under me, still staring silently. 

Of course, as soon as she releases my hands, I try and bring them up to hit her off of me, my heart threatening to burst from the tension in my body, but she presses down so that my arms are pinned by hers, still wrapped around my middle. 

“What do you _want_?”, I whisper, afraid of blinking under her intense, eyeless gaze. 

She tilts her head. “Darling, why do you fight me?”

Why? _Why?!_ I can’t even begin to list the reasons why. Surely a powerful thing like herself is fully aware of what she’s doing. What’s she’s done. 

I still don’t know how she relates to my daughter and I both need to know and would also rather not find out. God knows what she did or tried to do. 

The thought makes my stomach turn.

What did this creature do to Coraline to make her act so strangely lately? 

Sharp pain in the flesh of my wrists brings me back to the present. Clawlike nails are digging into my skin— I writhe, legs kicking uselessly under her until she finally stops. 

The creature doesn’t look happy. “I asked you a question.” 

“S—so did I”, I dare to respond. 

For a moment I’m absolutely certain she’s going to snap my neck and be done with it from the expression of plain hatred on her face, but it calms within seconds and she grins. 

“I have _everything_ I want”, she sighs, answering my previous question. “But I’m still dying to know, dear, why it is that you insist on giving me trouble.” 

A feeling of pure rage threatens to swamp me. Who exactly does this creature think she is? Being stronger and faster than me isn’t an excuse to fucking kidnap and assault me. I can’t tell if she’s seriously asking me this or just trying to make me angry. 

Pinpricks threaten to become daggers in my wrists again and I twitch, trying not to shake so much. “I’m... defending myself?” 

“Oh? From what?” 

“From... _you...?_” 

That earns me another frown. “But there isn’t any point, love.” 

I shudder at the definitely misplaced pet name, indignance overpowering fear for the smallest of moments. “What even are you?” 

Wrong question. In less than a second, the pseudo-person on top of me’s face goes from surprised, to annoyed, to furious. I recoil as the very bones of her face seem to realign, reminding me of the contorted movements she’d made when I’d first seen her. 

I open my mouth to say something else— a hasty apology —but I find my throat dry as she morphs further, suddenly weighing me down twice as much as before, already pale complexion turning bone-white as dark furrows spread across her face. 

The horrible creature from before is back, out of the blue, and she looks just as feral as a wild animal. 

“Do you prefer me this way?” , she hisses, voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. 

Sneering, the creature leans down so that her broken face is inches from mine. “I would suggest”, she says, “That you don’t make _rude comments_.” 

Her face softens into an unsettling smile as she continues. “You’re far too... _fragile_ to be risking injury.” 

She brings up a cold metal hand, running it deceptively gently through my hair, and I start to shiver again. I’m really not going to wake up from this nightmare, am I? 

The creature begins to hum, seemingly relaxed now as she keeps touching my hair, somehow not getting her hand tangled in it.

Despite the apparently peaceful gesture, I can’t force myself to calm down at all. 

Not when I consider that this may be my eternity.

I suck in a sharp breath— the creature’s cold lips are on mine. My innards churn. 

I force myself to lay still, expecting roughness, but it never comes. She feels soft against me, almost playful, and if didn’t know any better, in the darkness of the room I might have mistaken her for a much less frightening human being. 

A jolt shoots down my spine when her tongue pushes its way into my mouth, just as slowly, dragging over my own and mapping me out. Before I can choke it down, a small noise escapes me. 

I’m given the rare chance to breathe when she pulls back, hair tickling my skin, and chuckles to herself. 

A small twinge of nausea starts up again at that, but the creature simply dips back down, moving lower until she begins running her tongue along my neck. 

Like the rest of her, it’s cold, and I can’t help but shiver for multiple reasons. 

Why am I starting to _relax?_

My eyes, which I hadn’t even noticed had begun to close, snap open at a sound from above me. 

The creature is frozen, face directed towards my side, and it dawns on me that I’ve grabbed onto her arm from underneath. 

I immediately open my hand as if her skin is burning mine. Why did I..._ugh_. What’s _wrong_ with me? 

Apparently, I’m not the only one put off.

The creature is pulling back now, dark cracks in her face filling out and her segmented body morphing back into the humanish facade from earlier. 

Briefly, I’m seized with fear— is she upset enough to want to attack me? There’s nowhere to hide. I can’t exactly go anywhere from here! 

Why did I ever crawl through that damned door...

After a few beats, however, the creature simply drags herself off of me and to her feet, not glancing back as she goes to the door, opens it, and slams it behind her without a single threat or mocking word. 

”I should grab her more often...” , I mutter to myself. 

The ‘days’ I spend in the room become almost unbearable. There’s no changes in scenery, and there’s absolutely nothing to do, for one. 

I try to sleep when I can— sure, I need it to live and function, but it also kills time. If there’s any comfort I can take in my unwilling new routine, it’s that the creature doesn’t seem to stray from hers: Food three times a day, and a “visit” after lunch, or occasionally in the morning. 

She leaves me alone and with some personal space, for the most part, but sometimes I get the feeling the creature is restraining herself. She talks to me far less than before, still with the same syrupy sweetness, but now it somehow feels even less genuine. I don’t ask her any more questions. 

What’s on my mind most days is Coraline: Is she safe? 

Has she gone looking for me, for her friend? 

Does she know where I am... and if so, is she planning on coming here? 

God, I pray she won’t. 

I hope she’s staying with the downstairs neighbors, or maybe Mrs. Lovat. I really hope she’s being looked after. 

I hate to sound so bleak, but Coraline is better off assuming I’m dead. It might as well be the truth. It’s not like I’m exactly _living_.

After what feels like about a week, I start to have difficulty sleeping.

It begins as a minor thing, but eventually, I can’t get to sleep at all. I can’t tell if it’s the anxiety over Coraline, her friend’s grisly demise, or my own grim situation. 

My guess? All of the above. 

The insomnia is taking a toll on me during my waking hours now: I’m both hungrier than usual and have no motivation to eat at all. 

When the creature comes to my room, I don’t mention anything about it, shoving trays under the bed and hoping she won’t notice for at least a little while. If I can just dispose of them later, it’ll be fine... 

One morning, though, as I’m laying in bed, willing the ceiling I’m staring at to collapse on me, there’s a loud creak from somewhere in the room. 

I jump up at once. If there’s one thing about this place that I’ve learned, it’s that every noise has a reason, and it’s not usually something pleasant. 

A floorboard in the far corner creaks again, and then, slowly, begins to lift up. 

Breathing quickly, I back towards the bathroom. I really, _really_ don’t want to face any monstrous, button-eyed rats right now...

The board suddenly springs up halfway, and a small shape leaps up onto the surrounding floor.

I don’t believe what I’m seeing at first. 

It’s the black cat. My _daughter’s_ black cat. ...Well, technically. What is he doing h— 

“Oh, thank goodness you’re alive!”

I scream. 


	4. Factory Reset

Now I _know_ I’ve got to be hallucinating, because a cat just jumped out of the floorboards and spoke to me. 

“Ah, of course. My apologies, Ms. Jones. This world’s properties allow me to—“

“I don’t care. Is Coraline okay? She’s not coming here, is she? She can’t be. Please tell me she isn’t?” 

The cat sits calmly and I want to scream again. Can’t he see I’m in no mood to stop and chat? I don’t care how he can talk. Things haven’t been making sense since I crawled in here. 

“She’s perfectly fine, I can assure you of that.” 

“Where is she?” 

“Safe. With Wybie’s grandmother.” He sighs, which is almost weirder than him speaking. Almost. 

He looks down. “He’s gone, isn’t he? There’s no one else who could’ve sated her.” 

All I can do is nod, suppressing a nauseous shiver. I get the sense he knows exactly what happened to his human friend. 

We both tense at the sound of footsteps from somewhere in the house; I crawl back on the bed and curl up. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that _she_ never makes herself known unless she’s about to come in. 

“You should hide”, I hiss to the cat, but when I look away from the door, he’s already gone. I sigh in relief. 

And then I notice that the floorboard’s still sticking up. 

The door opens. 

“Who are you talking to?”, asks the creature, immediately approaching me and leaning on the end of the bed with both hands. She doesn’t look happy. 

“M-myself? I’m... just bored”, I stutter, stumbling over my words in my efforts to say them quickly. 

She turns to the bathroom side of the room first, luckily, as the floorboard is in the opposite corner, but I assume she’s going to see it in a matter of seconds, and panic. 

“What are you, um, up... to...?”, I try, trying very hard not to sound like I’m attempting to distract her. 

Miraculously, the creature’s look of displeasure melts away in favor of a surprised smirk. 

“Hm. You must really be bored— I’ve been experimenting with the place. Would you care to see?” 

She doesn’t wait for an answer and grabs my arm, but I’m so relieved that she didn’t look in the opposite corner (and to be leaving the room, at long last) that I let myself be dragged to my feet and out the open door. 

I begin to feel regret when I’m pulled into the hallway, her grip as vicelike as always as I’m led through the house. Did I just willingly follow this creature? 

Eventually, she stops at the bottom of the stairs, in front of the closet door. I’m confused. What could she possibly have done in _there_? It’s such a small space— but then again, she seems to be able to change that sort of thing. 

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 

I try to jerk my hand out of reach, panic setting in for a reason I can’t explain, but of course, the creature doesn’t let go. 

When she turns back and looks at me, a sinister smile spreading across her face, I glance just past her at a small shape on the floor of the hallway. 

It’s the black cat. 

His fur is stuck straight up, and he breaks into a run, hissing at the creature, but before he can claw at her legs, I hear the crack of bone: she gets taller, the arm that isn’t grasping mine lengthening into a sharp white limb. 

I gasp in shock as she slices her hand, each edge glinting, right at the frightened animal. 

Horrified, I can only stare as the cat drops like a sack of flour, dispatched in less than seconds. I feel myself shaking. 

I couldn’t have stopped her if I’d tried. 

Why had he jumped at her? And why did I sense something was off right before it happened? 

He must have sensed it too. 

“Let’s hope _you_ aren’t so foolish”, she says, chuckling to herself, but I only faintly hear it. 

The closet door opens, and I don’t have even a second to get my bearings before the creature is shoving me into it. 

I grapple with her, fighting to cling to her arm now, but she’s far too strong. She throws me aside and I fall back, bracing for impact— but instead of hitting the boiling hot water heater I’d expected, I fall onto a cold, empty floor. 

The door slams shut and I’m left in total darkness. 

Naturally, I get up (somewhat shakily) and rush at the door, but it’s firmly locked and won’t budge at all. I’m not sure why I bother.

I yell in frustration and slump to the floor, hands clenched into fists to try and stop them trembling. Is she just going to leave me here? _Really_? 

Ha. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Whatever the hell this thing is, she doesn’t behave like a rational being would, that’s for damn sure. She’s definitely no animal, either, although she’s got some spidery traits to her. 

I don’t even truly care what she is. I’m just trying to focus on anything _but_ what I’ve seen while I’ve been trapped here. 

She killed a fucking _kid_. Probably more, if she’s at least as old as the Pink Palace. 

Not just any kid, either. One I knew. Liked. He was my daughter’s friend, for fuck’s sake. 

And now he’s gone, and he really, _really_ didn’t deserve to be. 

It takes me a minute to realize I’m crying. 

When did it get so cold in here? I can’t see anything but the faint square of light from the door in front of me, so I can’t tell what the room looks like at all. It’s definitely way colder than it was a couple of minutes ago. 

As the temperature continues to drop around me, making me shiver and curl my legs up against my chest, I get the strangest sense of déjà vu. Have I been here before? 

Wait. What? What am I doing on the floor? 

It’s fucking _freezing_. Did I forget to close a window? 

No— no, I never open them. Gets too drafty. Maybe it was Coraline. 

God, my head. 

Am I at home? This feels like it, but I don’t recognize this room. Why am I in the dark? 

Something’s wrong. I can’t recall how I got here. The last thing I remember was... taking a bath. No, wait, I was taking a walk. 

I think? 

I... don’t actually know. 

“Hello?”, I call out, hesitantly. Maybe I’m dreaming. 

Vividly. 

I don’t get a response, but it feels a whole lot warmer in here awfully quickly, thank God. I guess I must’ve sleepwalked into the attic or something. I don’t know where else I would be. 

There’s a click right in front of me, and a door opens, creaking loudly and swinging open at a snail’s pace. Not the attic, then. 

No one is standing there when it opens fully. 

Shuddering, I get to my feet, dusting myself off. Judging from the rail I see sloping in front of me, I appear to have been in the downstairs closet. 

Which is... weird. Very, very weird. But I’m not exactly scared yet. There’s probably a reasonable— hell, even a _funny_ explanation for this. I wouldn’t put it past myself to have had a glass of wine too many and wandered off into any open room I saw. 

Nodding in self-assurance at the possible scenario, I step out into the hallway. 

The house is dark. And cold. And... when did I put those paintings up? I honestly hadn’t noticed them before. 

“Coraline?”, I call out, though it seems to be the middle of the night. I need to talk to a human being for a goddamn minute and ground myself. She can just go back to sleep after. 

...Oh, dammit, I just remembered that she left on a trip. I must’ve really been hammered last night. 

In spite of the possibility that I may have been drunk, however, as I look around the house, it’s not the same. 

I can’t explain the walls looking brand new, for one. I can’t name a reason for the wood on the staircase rails being a different color. I can’t fathom how the water stains on the ceiling, which I’ve been used to since we moved in, are just _gone_. 

Maybe I really am dreaming. 

I have to hope that I am. That, or I somehow missed the part when I refurbished the entire house. 

Either way, this feels very off. 

After a minute of staring at the stairs and surrounding area, I turn around to head to the kitchen. 

And shriek. 

There’s something on the floor and it isn’t moving. Is that... 

“Oh my god. No no no...” 

The cat, Coraline’s homely stray black cat that she’d adopted— is dead on the floor, tucked neatly against the wall in a furry heap as if he were only sleeping, but his blue eyes are wide open and glazed. 

I don’t know how he could have died. I hope it was old age... peaceful. It must have happened overnight. 

This situation just keeps getting worse. 

With a heavy heart, I bend down and start to gather the poor animal into my arms. I’ll have to take him outside and bury him— but first I want to let the Lovats know. 

I stand up fully. There’s a wet sound. Then, the sound of dripping. 

_Fuck_. 

It’s the cat. Oh... my fucking _god_... it’s coming from the cat. 

He’s been _gutted_. 

It takes everything I have in me not to drop his limp body onto the floor along with his innards. And to not throw up. 

Did he fight with a rat? What the hell happened? I’m not sure I want to know. 

Shaking, I place him down gently, avoiding looking at the mess around him, and go into the kitchen. I need to clean this up...

This room looks different too, and it only serves to increase the feeling of wrongness I’m getting from the house. I don’t trust it. 

I’m grabbing as many paper towels as I can when I notice that the door to the outside is wide open. 

“Oh, of course”, I mutter, ignoring the dread building in me, “Figures that would be a thing.” 

I clean up the mess in the hallway, but I can’t find any cleaning supplies below the sink. 

Doesn’t matter anyway, it turns out, because the blood doesn’t stain the floor at all. Wipes right off like water. There isn’t even a smell afterwards. 

Curiouser and curiouser. 

I know full well that something worse is going on right now, but I can’t let myself think about it yet. I can’t. It’ll be too much, and I’ll fall apart. I can’t afford to fall apart. Not until I know I’m safe. 

The thought finally occurs to me that I should call the police, but the phone isn’t on the wall. 

It’s like there never was one, too, there isn’t a mark indicating someone ever took it down. 

That’s it. That’s fucking _it_. I need to leave and go get help myself. 

I don’t know why I’m surprised when I find the front door locked somehow. Just what the _hell_ is going on? This isn’t funny anymore. 

If this is a dream, I really need to wake up. 

A sharp creaking behind me makes me spin around. There’s nothing there. 

...I hear it again. This time, it’s from upstairs. 

I don’t like this. 

The lights flicker on. Then off. 

I really don’t like this. 

For the third time, floorboards creak, but this time is different, because now they sound an awful lot like footsteps above me. 

The stairs start creaking and I’m bolting for the sitting room by the front door. 

It’s quiet now. 

I step back, eyes glued to the doorway, every muscle rigid with tension. 

Something grabs my arm and I scream so loud it hurts my own ears. 

Stumbling forward, I spin, almost tripping in my haste to get away from the person— _thing_ — that’s looming where I just was. 

In the dark I can only make out that it’s tall— too tall— and lunging at me. 

“Fuck!” 

I dodge slender limbs and collide painfully with a wall, then slide sideways against it in a stubborn effort to keep moving away from whatever’s attacking me. 

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me from blacking out as I jump again and again, somehow managing to stagger back into the hallway with the thing close behind. 

It comes into view in the slightly better lighting. It’s pale, with features that look very human— dark hair, a face— only its eyes are... black. Are those buttons? How does it see...? 

Viewing it clearly makes it even worse. 

In my distraction, my foot catches on the edge of the hallway rug and I go down, the thing landing on top of me. 

My hands rush to cover my vulnerable face and neck from the thing, but I can still peek through my fingers at it. 

It almost resembles a human woman. 

A very thin one, mind you— but it’s really more like a sort of doll, with an unnaturally white complexion and its face broken into fused pieces. 

...Why is something so familiar about her? 

I don’t have time to think about it. This thing is about to kill me. I need to get away. 

I suck in a breath and bring my legs up to kick the creature off of me, but she just hisses and wraps skeletal-looking, almost mechanical hands around my torso and back. 

“Get off”, I wheeze, unsure if the creature even understands me. 

This can’t be happening to me. This can’t be how I die. 

But the monstrous creature doesn’t move anymore, doesn’t lash out. She just goes still, as if somehow watching me through those blank, dead ‘eyes’. 

And then she _laughs_. It surprises me, how human she sounds, voice almost pleasant if it weren’t coming from literal nightmare fuel, and if it didn’t sound so fucking ominous. I don’t know if I’m more terrified or angry. 

Must be the former, because I start crying then, hands moving to cover my face again. 

I don’t know what the hell to do. 

I feel myself freeze when the hands gripping me move, pulling me up, and before I know it I’m being lifted off of the ground. 

Anxiety makes me shake even more and I can’t bring myself to uncover my eyes as I feel the creature holding me in the mocking of an embrace, and as my head presses against her, there’s a hollow sound— somewhere between a purr and a heartbeat, a dry sort of noise coming from her. 

I find myself completely entranced by it. 

My own heartbeat slows, and I feel myself melt into a tired state of exhaustion, all tension seeming to dissipate in favor of a sensation of eerie calm. 

How did she— ha. What is she, a siren? I can’t even begin to guess. 

Rhythmically, the creature starts moving towards the stairs, carrying me like she’s nursing a fussy child. I hardly notice time passing at all and find myself looking at the open attic door when she gets to the top. 

“Wh— ugh.” I try to form a question, but my words fade into mumbles. She must’ve done something to my voice as well. 

She’s tall enough to hoist me past the ladder by simply reaching, and places me on the floor of the attic above. I find myself too weary to move. 

Wait, she’s way too tall to fit through that door— am I safe up here? 

The ladder creaks before I can attempt to start crawling away, but what comes up after me isn’t the same daunting creature that put me here. 

It’s a... well, it’s _almost_ a human woman, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that it isn’t still her. 

As soon as she climbs up and latches the door, I watch as skin becomes near-bone again and the creature returns. 

Guess that answers my question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I don’t have anything against the cat! I just happen to have killed him off in two different stories. Oops. Poor guy just can’t catch a break.


	5. Facade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No NSFW in this one for the second time, but at least I’m crawling my way out of the cold, damp well that is writer’s block. 
> 
> Two separate POVs here, by the way.

The attic, which I hadn’t got to opening yet— in my own house at least, which this somehow doesn’t seem to be— is ancient-looking. Cobwebs stretch across nearly every surface, save for a central table, and there’s sewing equipment as far as I can see. I feel like I’m about to be dissected. 

The creature, having morphed back into the form she’d come after me with, is staring at me rather creepily. I frown uncomfortably. 

“Who are you?”, I ask her, still unsure if she understands me. Just because she laughed before doesn’t mean she speaks my language. 

Or at all. 

“I’m... a friend”, she says slowly. “I’m not going to kill you.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

She looks pensive, metal claws clicking as her hands fidget, and sighs. “I found you wandering my house, poor dear, but you weren’t trying to steal anything when I approached you. You looked lost. Do you remember how you got here?”

_Her_ house? I didn’t think I could get any more confused. 

The creature looks as genuinely puzzled as I am, but if this is really somehow not my house, then...

“I saw my cat here. He was dead. I cleaned it up and then you found me. Why was he here if this isn’t my house?” 

“Does it look like your house?” 

I furrow my brow. “Well, mostly.” 

“Mostly? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” 

“I— I think it just looks similar, or something. But I still don’t know why I found my cat here.” 

“Are you certain it was yours?” 

_That_ throws me off. 

I hadn’t thought about it much. Maybe it was another cat, but come on. The same black fur— and those blue eyes? 

I shrug a shoulder. “He was pretty distinctive.” 

“Then... perhaps you both ended up here. I might be able to tell you why”, she offers, and though her tone is mild and amiable, I have to consciously stop myself from shrinking back as she steps closer. I shouldn’t judge a book by its terrifying cover, I suppose. 

She gestures toward the chair tucked under the central table and I take a seat while she circles to face me. 

“I’ve been trapped in this place for countless years”, she begins. “I rarely see another soul. As time passes on, I have had to replace parts of myself until I became something else entirely. Such are the properties of this dimension.” 

“Dimension? What do you mean?”

As crazy as the notion seems, I can’t exactly explain the creature in front of me, or why this house looks exactly like mine, or why the cat was disemboweled on the floor of it. 

“You’ve fallen into this world by some means, most likely by accident, as I once did. It mirrors the real world, but only a small piece of it.” She moves in front of the table, placing a gleaming silver hand atop it. 

“Unfortunately, it’s quite impossible to leave.” 

I feel the air leave my lungs. 

That’s... no. That can’t be it. 

That would mean I’d never see my daughter again. 

“It’s a terrible thing, dear, but it’s true. I am deeply sorry to tell you this”, she says gently. 

“H— have you tried to get out?”, I manage, but I already know her answer. She wouldn’t look like a living nightmare if she hadn’t been here for a long, long time. 

“I have. But there simply isn’t a way back.”

“How did you even survive? How long...?”

The creature waves a hand dismissively. “You’ll get accustomed to the powers within this world in time; they’ll allow you to use them to bend the laws of the real world. All you can truly do is accept it.” 

I don’t want to accept it. 

I’m lucky that this creature— person— entity— is taking the time to explain it all to me, I guess. It must have been lonely for so many years. 

I just can’t deal with the fact that I’m... stuck here. 

“Can we at least try? I don’t want to minimize what you’ve gone through, but maybe I can find another way...”, I trail off. “My daughter— Coraline— she needs me. I can’t just— god.” 

My cheeks heat up with embarrassment at my show of emotion in front of this total, and probably ancient, stranger, but I can’t stop the flow of tears that follow. 

This is the _worst_. It’s so fucking unfair. I don’t even remember getting here! 

“Darling, I won’t stop you from trying. You can look around the house if it will make you feel any better.” 

Sniffing like a child, I nod, wiping my nose with a sleeve before I look up. “Wait, what’s your name? I’m sorry I didn’t ask before, I thought you were going to eat me or something. No offense.” 

She laughs. “Not to worry. My name is Esther. What’s yours, if I may?” 

“Mel Jones. I guess I’m gonna go look for an exit now.” 

“Of course.” 

The house is exactly like mine in most aspects, confirming what Esther told me, except for the fact that there’s a rather large wooden chest in the parlor, containing what, I’m not sure I want to know. 

Outside, the world looks just as foggy as my own, but I have to wonder if it’s not because there isn’t anything else past the house and its surrounding area. 

There are no anomalies I can see, save for the attic, and I’m about ready to return there anyway when I recall a vague memory from only days ago: a tiny door. Coraline had been the one to stumble upon it, actually, but it’s hard to forget a thing like that, even if it did only lead to a brick wall. 

Now, logically, I know that the door would have simply led to another section of the house, but was closed off after the Palace was divided. The bricks were another part of the wall, and that was that. 

Logic, however, doesn’t seem to apply in the same sense here as it did there. 

Maybe that door is the way out. 

That strange chest I’d seen before is sitting exactly where the door would be, and I can clearly tell I won’t be able to move it on my own— though I do try, to no avail. I’ll need to ask Esther to help me. 

But she isn’t in the attic when I go up. 

It’s unsettling, not knowing where she is— and that’s largely because she’s absolutely terrifying to look at, even if she has turned out to be unexpectedly informative and not murderous. I wouldn’t want to run into her in the dark, as guilty as I feel about being so irrationally afraid. 

When I get back to the parlor, however, I do find her, finally, sitting neatly on the couch, although I’m not entirely sure how she got here before I did. Must be the “properties of the dimension”, or whatever she’d said. 

“Hey”, I say, glancing at the chest against the wall. “What about the little door?” 

“Hmm?” 

I gesture to what the chest is blocking. “There was a weird little door in my house right about there.” 

Esther gets up, goes to the chest, and proceeds to shove it aside with one hand in a single motion. 

I blink in astonishment, but say nothing... the more pressing matter is that the door I’d expected isn’t there at all. 

“Are you certain there was a door here, Mel?”, asks Esther, head tilted. 

Embarrassed, I nod. “I’m not making it up.” 

She mirrors me and goes back to the couch. “Of course you aren’t. Occasionally, this world changes things, but that’s hardly your fault.” 

The coming ‘days’ consist of me looking for any sign of a door and getting heart attacks every time I see Esther. 

She clearly isn’t helping me look because she doesn’t think we’ll find anything, which I understand, but does she really have to be there every other time I turn around? Jesus. 

I’ve taken to sleeping in ‘my’ room, though my stomach turns every time I enter it for whatever reason. The same thing happens in the parlor too, actually, but I have no clue why. Must be something magic-related. 

Asking Esther questions becomes tiring after some time. It’s not like she doesn’t answer me, but she’s vague about things and always seems to be busy when I see her. With what, I don’t know, but I’m definitely not about to snap at her and have her snap my _neck_ in response— despite her apparent passiveness. 

One day (or whatever it is, at this point), I wake up to a subtle scratching noise. 

I can’t pinpoint it, but it’s setting my nerves on edge and it might lead to some sort of an escape, so I get up and head to the corner of my bedroom, limbs cold and stiff as I trudge over. 

Immediately, the scratching stops. 

Just my fucking luck. 

Sighing in exasperation, I’m about to go back to bed when it starts up again, this time even louder. It’s coming from the far wall of my bedroom. 

When I return to investigate, I notice a tiny piece of the wallpaper peeling away. 

Huh. This copy-house has been completely pristine since I’ve been here, almost weirdly perfect, and yet this is here. 

I reach out and touch it. 

Like dead leaves, the wallpaper yields easily and comes away from the wall, revealing something like a wooden switch or small lever in the material underneath. 

Taking a breath, I flip it up. 

There’s the sound of chains and something heavy dragging on the floor before the entire wall opens up before me, unveiling an uncharacteristically dark corridor stained with water damage and decay. 

“Delightful!”, I mutter, stepping inside, because what else do I have left to lose? 

__________ 

“Ah, geez.” 

I wrench my eyes closed at the irritating blast of daylight that’s flooding the room. Can’t a girl take a freaking nap around here? 

Mrs. Lovat visibly winces. “I’m sorry, honey. The police are here.” 

Again? Ugh. 

It’s the fourth week since Mom went missing, and every time the cops come up to ask me questions, it feels less and less like we’re going to find her. 

You’d think I’d be a little more upset about it, which I was, but now I’m pretty sure that she’s not going to come back. 

It still sucks. I’m not gonna lie here— I cried for days when I came back only to realize she wasn’t here. 

The front door had been unlocked and no one had been in the house, but Mom’s car was still in the driveway. So I’d phoned Wybie. He hadn’t picked up, but his grandma had. She’d sounded stressed. 

Apparently, he’s missing too. Hearing that over the phone was almost too much to bear. 

I checked the door that first night, the little one that I’ve been trying to ignore since everything that’s happened. Finding it unlocked had almost made me throw up, right then and there on the floor. 

But it’s not like I could just waltz in unprepared.

Besides, even when I did get dressed and ready, fighting off yawns, I’d come to a closed door on the other side. 

Which meant that _someone_ had locked it. 

A certain someone I hadn’t wanted to think about for as long as I live. 

The other mother. 

I’d gone back to the well the next day. It was open, which shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did, but I guess I wasn’t ready to have it confirmed that the Beldam kidnapped my mom... again... and now my best friend, too. 

After having the equivalent of a tantrum in my room when I got back, I headed back to the Lovat house, and Mrs. Lovat urged me to stay with her. So I did. 

Obviously, I didn’t say anything to the cops. Not even to Mrs. Lovat. It wouldn’t have made a difference. 

Who would believe a story like that? I don’t even have the key anymore. 

There are police turning over every stone in the Pink Palace, bothering the neighbors, searching her car, the woods. They won’t find anything. 

The frustration turns to grief pretty quickly. I’ve never lost someone like this before. 

What kills me about it is that I know where she is. I _know!_

I know... and there still isn’t jack I can do about it. 

Oh, by the way, the cat’s been missing too. Just in case my situation was looking too optimistic. So that’s great. 

I call my dad on the weekends, when he has at least a little time for me. It’s always rushed, but I like talking to him. It’s the next best thing to talking to Mom. He says he’ll try and drive over when he can, but I don’t know. It seems like he’s enjoying his solitude. 

Well, I’m definitely _not_ enjoying mine. 

I can’t believe how rocky my life has been lately. 

First it’s sad and bland, because I’ve left my friends in Michigan, for crying out loud. 

Then, it’s plain scary, and almost over, at several instances, but then it’s nice, and a relief, because I get out okay and realize I don’t _really_ wanna get what I want all the time— because then that’s too good to be true. 

And now it’s back to being bad. Worse. Way, way worse, because not only is Mom gone again, taken by a monster that I thought I defeated... but I don’t even have any way to help her. 

I’m useless. As much as Dad tells me it’s not my fault, I feel like it is. What does he know? 

I should’ve warned her. 

I _should_ have hidden that key. Not doing that was a literal recipe for disaster... and I let that happen. To Mom. And Wybie. 

They could be dead, for all I know. The thought makes me sick but I have to think it.

Maybe the cat is, too. I pissed off that horrible witch when I got away, and now she’s taking it out on my friend and my freaking mom. 

What’s wrong with me? 

...No. I can’t just sit in my friend’s house, drowning in self-pity and letting the days keep going on by. I need to figure something out. 

I can’t get into the other world. I’ve established that... but maybe I can try and contact them. 

No, that wouldn’t work, _she_ sees everything in there. She’d stop me in my tracks and laugh about it. 

Gahhhh! Come on, _think_, Coraline! How the heck else can I get through to them? 

To... her? Wait. 

Maybe I can make another deal.


	6. Flu

“Hello?”, I call out to no one I particular as the wall closes behind me. 

The air is exactly as stale and damp as you might expect, but somehow, I can see the corridor ahead of me just enough not to trip and fall. 

Dry flakes of paint and debris make uncomfortable scratching sounds as they come off of the walls I brush against, fluttering in front of me and making me cough. I wonder if Esther knows about this place? 

After about a minute of walking, the outline of another door becomes visible just ahead. 

I place a careful hand against the wood before I try and open it, for some reason put on edge. It’s too quiet. 

Almost immediately, there’s movement. 

“Shit!” 

I jerk back in shock before touching the door again. No, it’s definitely moving. 

...The door, that is. Not something behind it. The wood itself feels warm to the touch, which is not only disgusting, but damn _creepy_. I retract my hand. 

Escape route or no, I have a terrible feeling about trying to open this door— on my own, at least. I’ll have to tell Esther what I’ve found. 

Thankfully, there’s no other surprises in the passageway on my way back. I’m momentarily worried about not being able to open the door, but something clicks as I step near it, and the whirring of chains tells me I’ve made it back at last. 

Unexpectedly, Esther is standing there when the wall opens up for me. Her expression is hard to read. 

I nod awkwardly. “I, er, found something.” 

“Oh?” 

I gesture to the door. “It’s... a hallway. A bit cramped in there, though, and the door on the other side was... uh...”

Esther raises an eyebrow. 

Oh boy. I gesture helplessly. “Moving...?” 

At that, she steps past me without another word, finding the switch and flipping it so that the wall closes itself behind me. The rattling of the metal seems louder than last time as the mechanisms finally come to a halt. 

“Mel”, Esther begins, a forced-looking grin on her face, “I would advise that you stay away from that door.”

“What? Why?” 

“It isn’t safe, believe me.” She turns from the wall, silvery hands clicking as she fidgets with them. 

God. It’s not that I don’t trust her word, but her not being specific is beginning to wear down my patience. Okay, so my escape plan was —_allegedly_— a bust, but could she at least give me some backstory on this? 

Despite my displeasure, I won’t push it right now. No point in starting some useless argument I’m not sure I can even win. 

Esther seems to visibly relax, which is confusing, because it’s almost as if I’d said something out loud. 

Huh. I must have nodded and forgotten about it. I’ve not been sleeping much lately either, so... whatever, right? 

I wake up the next morning feeling violently ill. 

Not exactly regarding pain; it doesn’t feel life-threatening— but the urge to vomit is so strong that I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m sick in the toilet. 

As I gasp for air, I comb through the events of the past few days: did I eat something bad? I’m certain that’s possible. Magical dimension notwithstanding, there’s no guarantee that it means the food can’t go bad here, even if there’s an inexplicably limitless supply of it. 

But this doesn’t feel like food poisoning. Well... not quite. There’s something off. 

Very off. 

Jesus, am I coming down with the flu? 

I don’t get to ponder it further as another wave of nausea hits me and I lean over the bowl again to empty my stomach, every muscle strained with the pain and discomfort of the act. 

Finally, after what feels like eons, I can tell the worst has passed. I sit back on my knees and catch my breath. What in the hell was that? 

There’s a small creak as the bathroom door is pushed open; I hastily wipe my face with tissue paper and flush the toilet, a bit embarrassed. 

The doll-like face of my only companion is peering down at me when I glance up from the floor. 

Esther opens the door fully. “Are you alright? That didn’t sound pleasant.” 

I flush, and then wince as I try to speak: my throat is still raw from before. “Kk—ugh. I don’t know. I must’ve eaten something bad.” Still shivering, I grip the side of the toilet to try and get up, but my head feels lighter than air— I nearly crash into Esther, but she catches me, somehow managing not to skewer me with her fingers. 

“Sorry”, I mumble, but she makes a tsking sound and helps me steady myself at the sink. 

I avoid looking in the mirror directly, but my heart lurches when I see that I appear to be alone... 

No— nevermind. 

She’s there when I look up. 

I shake my head, wrenching my eyes shut for a moment. I need to lay down or something. 

“Thank you”, I croak. “I think... I need to go back to bed.” 

Esther pats my arm. “Of course.” 

She props me up as I walk and makes sure that I’m comfortable as I lay down. “Anything else?” 

“If you could find something hot, like soup? Tea? Ramen noodles?” 

She tilts her head at that last one and I remember how old she must be. I laugh. 

“Nevermind that third thing. But yeah. Thank you, really.” 

Esther smiles, placing a hand on my arm before leaving, long metal fingers brushing carefully over my skin. “I’ll be back soon with something for your stomach.” 

The nausea fades over the course of the day, but seems to return at the start of each new one, sometimes at night. I wonder if it’s hormonal, but I don’t bleed, though I do cramp up. Esther suggests I might be fighting off the flu like I’d first thought. 

I hope that’s all it is. 

Truthfully, with my family’s history of weird sicknesses, it scares me a little that this is happening at all. I’ve never had any health issues until now. 

It’s a good thing, though: I skipped my period this month (whatever month that is). I’m guess I’m just one of the lucky few that has that happen once in awhile. I don’t think I could handle a stomach bug _and_ Shark Week all at once. 

Unfortunately, my ‘luck’ doesn’t extend further than that small blessing as the days progress. Sleep becomes impossible to get consistently, and the increasing anxiety of time passing makes each quiet moment— which are most of the moments— nearly unbearable. 

This is the worst time to be sick. I need to be finding a way out. I need to get back to Coraline. 

God, I hope she’s okay. At least she’s probably with Wybie, she definitely needs a friend right now. 

•••

The letter I’ve written waits on the nightstand by the Lovat’s guest bed for nearly two days while I wait for the cat to show up. 

I had a few other drafts of it, but this one is both spell-checked and... uh, better in general. 

Let’s just say that my tone wasn’t exactly _civil_ in the first ones.

As much as I hate the other mother, I need to play this right— assuming she has Mom— and assuming Mom’s not a drained, button-eyed ghost lady by now. Yikes...

And yeah, I know that it’s a bit silly to rest all of my hopes on a cat who might have finally died of old age, for all I know, but I’ve gotta try. 

Good thing I was patient, as it turns out, because one day he does show up. 

He looks frazzled, though, like he’s just escaped from a pack of coyotes, and his face looks a little different as he pads up the Lovat’s front steps onto the porch where I’m sitting, letter in hand. There are two white marks on his cheekbone, clear and crisp, very obviously a part of his markings... not just something funky he rolled in. 

“How have I never noticed those before?”, I greet him, eyeing his face, and he gazes back with those know-it-all blue eyes of his. 

“I don’t know where Wybie is”, I sigh, biting the inside of my cheek. “Or Mom. But I need your help with this letter, okay? I need you... to give this to the other mother.” 

The cat lashes his tail, digging his claws into the wood of the porch with a glare. 

“I know she hates you —and you hate her— I get it! But please... I need my mom back. I need my friend back. Can’t you do this for me?” 

Something happens then, a shadow crosses his face somehow, some detail that I don’t know about.

Oh, screw that. He always knows something I don’t.

I don’t drop my stare. 

“Please?”

With a curt nod, the cat steps forward, looking up and meeting my gaze. 

I drop the rolled-up letter. 

He picks it up in his mouth, pointed little fangs clasping it in his tiny jaws, blinking once at me before darting off into the bushes and out of sight. 

_Thank you_.

•••

Despite Esther’s warning about the door in my bedroom, I find myself standing in front of it yet again one restless night. 

I feel slightly guilty about doing this in secret— but hey. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, weird unspecific reasoning or not. It’s not like she made that big of a deal about me going in there, right? 

Jesus. I hope I don’t upset her. 

There’s a blanket draped over my shoulders as I stand before where the wall will open, hand hovering over the switch scarcely visible in the dim light. 

Sucking in a breath, I flip it. 

I have no idea if I’ll find anything, or even escape, but I have to try. It’s something. 

Shit. I’d forgotten how loud it was. 

The metal grating sound seems to drag on for millennia before the passageway finally reveals itself to me, the air inside thick with dust and decay. I step forward. 

As the cold air envelops me and as the mechanism begins to slide closed at my back, my heart drops: there’s another sound. 

Someone is opening the bedroom door. 

Too late, I think worriedly, and my stomach does nervous flips as I worry about Esther’s reaction. Maybe I shouldn’t have done this. 

Dammit— I’m already here. 

Might as well keep on going... 

I can swear the walk is shorter this time around. 

The hallway itself even looks shorter, come to think of it, but my mind is focused on the door at the end. It could be the way out of this strange place. 

“Please don’t bite”, I mutter, praying that the bizarre sensation of movement in the wood from before isn’t still a thing. 

It’s my lucky day— the door feels cool to the touch and perfectly solid. 

It is also, per my experimental push, very much unlocked. 

The door swings open and I immediately hear something loud behind me. 

Without turning around, I swallow back my anxiety. “Esther?”

No response. Guess I shouldn’t worry about it...

Chewing my lip, I step out into the room I’m facing. 

It’s spacious, but well-furnished; it appears to be another copy of the bedroom I’d just left, except the wood is different, and the room is busier despite the space: lavish, Victorian-looking furniture, elaborate, carved candles on nearly every surface, and colorful tapestries on the walls accompanied with various oil paintings. 

The change is so drastic that I have to clear my thoughts and remember why I’m here: I’m trying to find the way out. 

It very abruptly occurs to me that I don’t know if I’m alone. 

Hesitantly, I make my way to the room’s center, eyeing every dark shadow and beautiful object as if it could jump out and scare me. It’s dead silent. 

“Is anyone here?”, I try, noting the bathroom and exit doors’ locations. 

Again, I’m answered with silence, so I head out into the hallway and—

“Christ!” 

—Nearly walk right into the abhorrent blob of _something_ in the middle of it. Disgusted, I step back into the doorway, thinking my sight is failing. 

But sure enough... there really is a pulsing mass of goop on the floor. Real, pitch black, probably alive. 

You know— all good things. _Great_ things. Fantastic qualities! 

I suck in a breath and slam the door shut. 

Not today, Satan. 

“Dammit”, I hiss, because my goddamn nausea has decided that now is the perfect time to pay me a visit. 

I have to go back, I realize. 

There’s no way I’ll be able to handle that mystery blob right now, and I’m pretty sure it’s what made me feel so sick in the first place— better to face chastisement than whatever the hell is in that hallway. 

So I do go back. 

I go back and I hurry the hell up while I’m at it. Something tells me I shouldn’t linger here, and it’s not just the fact that I’m hanging out with a giant amoeba— the anxious feeling from earlier is back and worse than ever. 

The second door’s chains and gears feel louder still as I stand before them in the passageway, and my nausea grows as my path opens up and I’m forced to face my unlikely ancient roommate... who doesn’t look very pleased. 

But before I can even begin to explain myself, a sharp pain shoots through me and I gasp, keeling over. 

The irritation disappears from Esther’s face and she rushes forward to catch me, but I steady myself, putting up a hand. “I’m fine.” 

Esther makes a face. “You don’t seem fine. Why don’t you lie down?” She speaks quickly, lightly but pointedly grasping my arm and leading me to my bed, lips pursed tightly as she does so. 

I want to protest, or maybe apologize, because hadn’t she told me specifically not to go through that door? Isn’t she angry with me? 

As I gingerly lay down, wincing as dull waves of pain emanate from my middle, she draws back, gives the door a quick look, and sighs. 

“Stay out of there, Mel. You’re in no condition to be exploring.” 

For some reason, that answer doesn’t satisfy me. 

I frown. “What’s the real reason you don’t want me in there?” 

“It’s dangerous.” 

“How?”, I ask, but I have to wonder if she’s referring to that creepy blob thing I saw. Maybe the place is infested, or something. 

But Esther doesn’t clarify. Her already displeased expression grows sour, the pale gleam of her broken face making her look particularly eerie in the low light. 

“I’m not going to ask you again— _don’t go in there_”, she snaps. She moves away towards the bedroom door, pausing in the doorway. 

“Let me know if anything changes with your condition. I’m bringing you back something to eat”, she says, voice much softer. 

I’m left queasy and confused as she closes the door for a final time. 

What an odd word choice— condition. A chuckle escapes me as I wonder if her era was familiar with the modern stomach virus. Perhaps she thinks I’m dying. 

Er... yikes. I _hope_ I’m not dying. 

But that would be a little too ridiculous, even for the strange-ass situation I’m in. 

It does suck, though. Why can’t the magical dimension I happen into be sickness-free? Why can’t that be a perk? 

Actually, I wonder if Esther has ever gotten sick. She might have bested aging to death, but if I can get sick like this... can’t she? 

Crap. I should try not to infect her with whatever I’ve got. Imagine living for centuries and being taken out by the flu, of all things... 

I jump a bit when Esther returns, cradling a bowl of what’s got to be soup. I realize how hungry I am. 

“Thanks”, I say. 

It takes me a worryingly short time to finish. I’m still fucking ravenous, though. I hope I don’t have a tapeworm. 

The thought itself certainly isn’t helping my nausea. 

Esther tilts her head as I hand her back the bowl. “I suppose you’ll want more?” 

All I can do is nod. 

I go through two more bowls of soup (some sort of carrot and squash mix, it’s surprisingly good) before I no longer want to eat the pillows off of my bed. 

“Did _you_ ever get sick?”, I ask Esther before she leaves, and she’s quiet a long time before answering. 

“Never.” 

She doesn’t look at me when she does leave the room.


	7. Fireplace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the hiatus, but hey, this was originally never meant to have its own schedule. 
> 
> A huge thank-you to the (quite unexpected) supporters and readers! 
> 
> •••••

Per my indirect wishes, Esther begins operating a day-and-night cycle outside of the house so I feel a bit more comfortable. 

...I say _indirect_ because I’d only mentioned offhand how strange and unsettling it was to be trapped in a timeless dimension; she’d acted as if raising the (admittedly illusionary) sun and moon was an easy task and hadn’t taken no for an answer. 

Uncertainty or not, though, I feel way less like I’m reliving a dream over and over again, so... I’m not exactly complaining. 

Still doesn’t help that my fucking abdomen hurts every day now, though. It’s starting to stress me out— and no, Esther had confirmed— this isn’t some common side-effect of being stuck in a pocket world. She’d never gone through this. 

It almost reminds me of... well... 

The only thing I can really compare it to is when I was pregnant with Coraline eleven years ago.

Except _that_ wasn’t nearly as damn painful, and Charlie and I have been divorced for some years now, so... no chance of trying for another kid. As if I’d forget something like that. 

Fuck. Maybe I really am dying. 

Maybe it’s a tumor, or a rare African virus, or a genetic disease that I never knew I had deciding to creep up on me _now_, of all times and places. That’d throw a wrench in my grand plan to escape this place for sure. 

I’ve lost track of the days, to be honest, since there weren’t any when I first arrived, but I’d guess it’s been at least a little over a month when Esther wakes me up earlier than usual. 

“I need to attend to something briefly. Would you stay here? I won’t be long.” 

I want to scoff, because where else would I go, feeling like this, but I settle for a sleepy nod. 

Let her be cryptic, for once I don’t have the energy to care. 

But when Esther leaves again, I’m suddenly overcome with the urge to get up, despite the sharp pains in my flanks. 

“Urgghhh”, I protest, hauling myself half-over the side of the bed and waiting for my head to stop spinning. 

Part of me is wondering what the hell’s compelling me to stand right now, but the other...

I mean... what the hell, right? 

Why not. 

I stand. 

...Very shakily. 

It takes me a minute to steady myself (God, I feel old) using the edge of the bed before I go as delicately as I can towards the bedroom door. 

I realize that it’s been nearly a week since I’ve left this room— not counting the bathroom and the wall passageway. I feel like I’m in a nursing home. 

The door, thank god, doesn’t creak when I turn the knob and pull it open. I step out into the hall. 

It’s dimly, yet warmly, lit, and the air feels far clearer. I find myself almost tearing up at the difference. Maybe I should be walking around more often... 

I’d forgotten how eerily close to my own home this place was. The same walls, the same rooms... but with different colors, different details. It’s uncanny. 

Careful not to be noisy, I make my way to the main downstairs hallway— and halt at the sight of a dim, flickering light coming from the parlor. 

Tiredly, I move forward momentarily, wanting so badly to warm myself by a nice fire and see if it brings me any physical relief, stopping myself at the last moment as I remember Esther’s warning words. 

_They were probably out of concern_, I muse, going through the scenario in my head. If Esther weren’t so damn _ominous_ all the time, then maybe it would be easier to tell. 

Not like it helps that she looks like something out of a horror film, but that’s besides the point and definitely rude of me to think. I’ve come here for a reason and I’m going to go through with it. 

What... what was that reason, exactly? 

Oh, whatever. 

As stealthily as humanly possible, or so I hope, I approach the end of the wall where the parlor entrance begins, noting the off-color of the reflected firelight on the hallway wall. 

Normally I’d find it weird to be sneaking around in what’s essentially my own house, but from the surprisingly light, tapping footsteps I can make out coming from the parlor, Esther is there— and I have the feeling I’m beginning to wear on her patience. Wouldn’t do well to get into a disagreement while I’m already feeling physically terrible. 

Unfortunately, as my gut decides it’s a great time to tell me, I’m also hungry again. 

She hasn’t moved for awhile...

Fuck. I’m starting to wonder whether I should back away down the hall when I hear a faint, papery crinkling coming from the room. 

I lean forward against my better judgment, poking my head out past the wall and letting myself breathe just a little when I see that Esther is facing away from me. Her silhouette seems taller than normal on the far wall, willowy form bent over something she’s holding near the firelight— but before I can make it out, she crumples it in one hand, tossing it into the fire and rising to her full height. 

My heart lurches and I nearly smash into the wall in my attempt to duck back, wincing at the ebbing pain in my middle and the inexplicable twinge of it I now feel in my ankle. 

I’m trying my hardest to retreat noiselessly, but when I look back up, Esther is standing in the threshold, looking slightly surprised to see me. 

I give her a weak smile. “I got hungry.” 

She doesn’t respond, but her face is turned at a slight downward angle, and I realize I’m still clutching my ankle, which is still bothering me, despite the fact that I don’t remember stepping on it wrong. 

“Are you hurt?”, she finally asks, gesturing to it. 

“I don’t think so. Must be that I stepped on it wrong, I just couldn’t see very well...” 

“Must be.” 

Esther begins moving past me, but waves toward the kitchen. “I’ll make you something so you aren’t hungry... but you’re going back to your room afterwards.” 

It isn’t a question. I don’t argue, but something in her tone feels off, some quality I can’t place. 

Nodding anyway, I follow her to the kitchen. 

Maybe I’m overthinking it. 

Naturally, I venture back through the wall entrance the next chance I get, when night falls later the same day. I can’t for the life of me understand why it wouldn’t be possible to escape through there, and if Esther refuses to bring it up at all, then I’m clearly on my own here. 

I know I should be at least _vaguely_ afraid of angering Esther in doing this again, but the curiosity and determination to leave is too much. 

Besides, I think I’d lose my sanity if I just sat here doing nothing every day, withering away until I looked as broken as she did. 

Hell, she doesn’t even eat food, to my knowledge. 

I’m not really sure I’d want to be immortal if it meant I didn’t get to live. 

The dark passageway feels impossible colder this time around, and I know I’m not mistaking the fact that the tunnel is shorter from one end to the other. 

On the better side of things, however, the air is clearer, as if my recent comings-and-goings had let it purge itself of the old stuff. 

When I step out into the older house, it’s dark, the warm yellow candles from last time snuffed out. The floorboards creak much louder than I recall, and the pristine wooden gloss of the walls and furniture looks faded and rough now. 

The door I’d closed before— the one separating this bedroom from the bordering hallway— is now wide open. 

Always a good sign. 

I peer out into the hall before I dare to traverse it, but I’m not greeted with any sort of sentient, goopy blob, to my relief. 

The hall is pitch black except for a single lantern lit at the end, where it turns onto an unfamiliar corner, and I can only imagine why this magical house is different from the one I just left. Why can’t things just be _simple_?

I take the turn, wincing as a floorboard creaks ominously underfoot. 

It’s too damn cold in here. 

Sucking in a breath, I’m jerked out of my chilly mutterings by the sudden stomping of feet from directly above me. It’s jarring: not a single noise but my own since I’ve gotten here, and now there’s a full kindergarten class upstairs? I don’t buy it. 

I stop walking and try to listen, but there isn’t anything. 

A shiver runs through me. I know what I heard. 

Somehow, I decide it’s a good idea to investigate, and before I know it I’ve found a twisty wooden staircase and climbed it to the top. 

Either this is a magical-dimensional copy of a different house altogether, or I’m missing something. 

The house’s floor plan is very much changed from where I’d come from, no doubt about it. The walls are dark and wooden, beautiful furniture and decor all around, although hard to see clearly without light. I notice the soft ticking of a clock as I pass it by, the massive thing taller than I am. 

I’m still on edge from the stomping from before, body tensed to run or backhand a possible attacker, when something faint steps into my vision across the upstairs hallway. 

An apparition. 

He’s pale, so faded and white that he looks almost blue, not seeming to notice me standing frozen to the spot as he skips from one room to the opposite in three seconds flat. 

“Fuck”, I whisper, because what the fuck? 

Not bothering to wonder if it’s a good idea, I clench my hands into fists and march after him. If there’s a way back to the real world, this kid might know it, and I’m not about to chicken out of an opportunity to free myself... 

He’s not in the room when I enter, but a candle burns cheerily from the far corner, as if inviting me in. 

The room is warmer than the hall, and more candles light up as I look around, illuminating the pastel colors and friendly-looking toys of a child’s bedroom. 

...Well, a really old-timey child. Like the rest of this house, the kid’s room is from another world entirely, some objects so alienated by the era that they’re from that they’re barely recognizable to me. 

I wonder idly if the house is doing this randomly, or if it’s simply presenting what once was. 

After all, the Pink Palace— the real one —is at least century and a half old, to my knowledge. Who’s to say there’s not an alternate version of the place for every iteration it went through as time went on? 

I frown. If that’s true, then this isn’t an exit at all. 

It’s a mirror into the past. 

•••

I’m trying not to walk on the ceiling, but I keep falling back up. 

There’s also a faint taste of banana every time I try to speak, which is _super_ weird, so I quit trying. I can’t even hear myself anyway. 

Oh, look, it’s Wybie! 

Why’s he waving his arms? Doesn’t he know that movement makes you float faster?! 

Ugh. Something’s off. 

Wait. Am I dreaming? 

Wow! I never realize I’m in a dream! This is great— I can do anything... I can make anything happen! 

Er... or not? I’m trying to conjure an armadillo but it’s really not working out for me. 

What the heck is the point of a lucid dream if you can’t actually control it?! 

Oh, Wybie’s back. Guess I should feel sad, or something. I’ve missed the idiot. 

“Why can’t you talk?”, I ask, pretending to ignore the wobbly quality my voice is taking on. “It’s me, Coraline!” 

Wybie shakes his head. 

He looks so tired...

“Gah!” 

Shoot, something woke me up. 

The slight pricks in my leg tell me that it’s the cat, but I have no idea how the ruffian managed to slink into Ms. Lovat’s spare room. Maybe he’s found one of those ‘secret ways’ in? 

“Hey. Did she get the letter?” 

The cat doesn’t give an affirming blink, but he doesn’t shake his head or lash his tail, either. That probably means it’s complicated. 

“Oh boy...” 

•••

After seeing the ghost-kid, I head back to the room I’d first arrived in, anxious to get back. 

There’s no way Esther would catch me this time; I’d come here right after she’d left for the night— but I’m still not risking it, if I can help it. 

My trip back through the passageway is a long one, for once. 

It puts me on edge. Why is the tunnel doing this _now_? What’s changed? 

I curse as something flutters past my nose in the dark. Swiping it from the air, it reveals itself to be a slightly crumpled piece of paper, a dim orange glow spreading across it in a fracture pattern as if it had been previously destroyed. 

Okay then... guess it’s important. With the glow, I can make out the words: 

_Dear Witch, _

__

_I know you’re not dead and I know you have my mom. _

__

_Let her go, and I’ll stay with you forever. _

__

_\- Coraline_

The paper erodes in my hands as my eyes pass over the last word— my own daughter’s name. 

I have to place a hand on the wall, which is inexplicably warm, to steady myself. 

Witch? Does she mean... Esther? 

What did Coraline mean by letting me go if we’re _both_ trapped here? 

Does she know Esther, somehow? Why was the tone so hostile, if so? How could they ever have met without me knowing about it? I feel like I’d not miss something like that. 

I would hope that Coraline would feel l comfortable enough to tell me... but, well... I suppose meeting someone like Esther would mean something magical or supernatural is involved. Thus it’s unlikely that I would have taken her seriously. I feel like shit about it, but it’s true: there’s no way I’d believe this if I hadn’t ended up here myself. 

All these new questions have me wondering... what isn’t Esther telling me? 

This is the same letter she’d tossed in the fireplace. Whatever it means, she clearly didn’t want me to see it. 

But why not? 

There’s the new and urgent desire in me to hurry back, and thankfully, the opposing door is already visible and within reach. 

I activate the door, but as soon as the mechanisms have finished clicking and I’ve stepped through, a pain seizes me and I double over, stifling a yelp of hurt and surprise. 

Weakly, I try to stand back up and flip the lever so that the door closes back up, but I’m too lightheaded. 

Ugh. _Dammit._ This is the worst possible time for another bout of nausea! 

It’s all I can do to hobble over to the bed and lean on it, doing my best to catch my breath, but it leaves me just as quickly when I hear the sound I’d most dreaded: the bedroom door swinging open. 

I can barely turn my head to look, but I see her. 

She sees me, too, and approaches slowly, wordlessly. 

At this point, my breaths are too sporadic for me to try and talk, even if I had any remote idea of what to say. My sides heave as I endure the wave of what feels like sea-sickness, and I can’t even gather the strength to crawl on top of the covers. 

There’s a cold, mechanical hand against my back. 

“Do you remember what I told you about that door, dear?” 

I can’t respond. She _knows_ I can’t respond. 

Another hand, alighting on my shoulder, begins to turn my body towards her, and I’m forced to turn my head as well, still out of breath and trying very hard not to let my legs go to jelly. 

Esther’s broken face wears an expression I can’t read, but immediately dislike. It’s definitely not a good one. 

“You’ve got something on your nightgown.” 

She’s right. 

I glance down, breaths shallow. It’s a charred piece of paper. 

Oh no. 

Esther removes her hand from my shoulder and flicks it off, and I watch it helplessly flutter to the floor, a telltale ember-like glow still bordering one edge. 

It’s a long and horrid silence before she speaks.

“That wasn’t meant for you. And, do tell— why did you go back through that door?” , she asks, just a little too sweetly. 

I cough and wheeze for a moment, the words getting jumbled in my mouth before I can form them. 

She takes pity on me, handing me the glass of water that’s on my nightstand with a look of disdain. 

I down nearly the whole glass and meet her somewhat hollow gaze. “I don’t know— because you won’t tell me why I can’t? I’m just trying to find a way out of here, I didn’t mean to —_agh_!”

The sting of cold metal pricking into the flesh of my arm makes me jump, jerking away from her and her stupidly sharp hands. 

I’m about to ask her another question, try and get her to talk about the letter, about how she knows Coraline, when another twinge of pain makes me hiss and clutch my abdomen. 

There’s a very wrong feeling here, I realize, both physically and otherwise. Something’s wrong with me, but something else is wrong with Esther...

My voice is hardly over a whisper. 

“...What’s happening to me?” 

She doesn’t answer, only grins, exposing some of her pointier, longer teeth. 

Jesus. 

She _knows_.


	8. Fade

Of course she knew, all this time. 

Of fucking _course_. 

Because I can’t just have _friends_ anymore, can I? People I can trust? Nope. Not for me, apparently. I don’t understand what I’m doing to deserve this. 

And that malicious-ass expression of hers isn’t making me feel any better. 

While I don’t know what she isn’t telling me, I know it’s nothing good. 

“What’s going on?”, I ask again, voice getting hoarse again.

Esther’s still grinning. “You aren’t sick, my dear.” 

Alongside the already-present discomfort begins a feeling of empty coldness in my middle. “Then what’s happening to me?” 

My mind drifts back to a stray thought I’d had lately— it’s a familiar feeling. 

I feel myself pale. And then redden. 

“Did you... _curse_ me, or something? Coraline called you a witch in her note— I know because I read it. Don’t try and deny it.” 

Esther draws away to stand at her full height and I almost choke on air— she’s changing shape right in front of me, crude metal hands clenching into pale, bony fists and body morphing into something a little more humanoid. 

But it’s still far from normal. 

Her inky black hair seems to shrivel and lengthen simultaneously, stray strands twisting in mid-air like snakes, falling past her shoulders, slim and bony under a much softer and older-looking scarlet dress. Esther’s face loses its porcelain gloss and unsettling dark furrows, but this new one is still daunting, with sharp, bony features and pale skin contrasted by shiny black buttons in place of eyes. 

As the change sets in, I notice her hands are slender, fingernails long and blood-red. I don’t know if I’m more scared of these or her previous mechanical ones. 

She sighs, as if in relief, flexing newly formed, practically clawed hands. 

Somehow, this form feels more genuine, like I hadn’t really known what she’d looked like all this time. It makes more sense. 

But what it doesn’t tell me is what she knows. 

I remember to breathe. 

“What did you do?”, I repeat, the feeling of wrongness magnifying as the woman steps nearer. 

“I did what I always do”, Esther finally replies, voice syrupy, unchanged. “I got what I wanted.” 

Before I can press about what the hell _that_ could mean, she takes another step, moving fluidly. 

I get to my feet, glancing briefly at the still-open door I’d run out through just minutes ago. 

“And what do you want?”, I ask, leaning sideways and trying my hardest not to look like I’m about to make a break for it. 

Esther blocks me in one stride. 

“Do you remember how I told you not to go in there?”, she says, each word dangerously drawn-out. “And do you recall me telling you to stay put?” 

I don’t know how to respond, struggling to remain balanced on shaky legs. 

“Did you, perchance, not understand my meaning? Because I could have cleared these things up, you know.” She tilts her head, hair still moving slightly around her pale neck. “The problem is, I’m not sure you’re worth the trouble anymore...” 

Miraculously, I snatch my arm away before she can grab ahold of it. 

She’s still in my way, though, and I don’t know if I can manage heaving myself backwards across the bed to get away, but I tense for it just in case...

Esther laughs. “You’re not going to get far.” 

My heart feels like it’s going to give out. Despite not knowing who or what she is, and what exactly she’s done to me, I don’t fancy finding out what she has planned for my future. It certainly doesn’t sound like it’s anything positive. Not for me, anyway. 

But she’s right. I’m not going to be able to get away quickly enough. 

There’s nothing I can reasonably do. 

...Oh, fuck it. 

Gritting my teeth, I shove past her, stifling a strained gasp with the effort of it. 

Stumbling, Esther looks shocked and angry. She clearly didn’t expect that. 

I almost trip as I back into the threshold of the door in the wall, panting as I fight to remain stable on my feet. 

My movement seems to snap her out of it. 

Rushing forwards with a snarl, she’s just a couple of steps away when I jerk back, into the tunnel, hand just barely finding and flipping the switch as I dodge her. 

Esther’s face contorts with rage. “_No!_” 

But she’s too late. Near-skeletal hands snake through the mechanisms between us in a vain effort to snatch me, curled talons missing my face by a fraction of an inch, zipping back as the wall closes with a few more rusty clanks and I’m bathed in darkness. 

That was way too close. 

Turning, one hand on my abdomen, I have no choice but to trudge onwards through the passageway, taking deep breaths to fight off nausea and trying to make sense of what I’ve just seen. 

Esther lied to me. I don’t know how, exactly, or why, but I know she’s lying about something. She pretty much told me herself. She _knew_ something. 

_You aren’t sick, my dear_.

I shudder in spite of the warm air. I should’ve known not to trust her. 

Why did I assume she was ever my ally? My friend, even? 

I still don’t even know how I got trapped here with her in the first place, as a matter of fact. That alone should have been a red flag.

I barely notice how long the journey is taking as I continue forward, more questions flitting through my head every second.

What does she really want— my suffering? What does she gain from it? 

How— _why_ did she know Coraline? 

_Coraline_. 

I miss her so damn much, even her grumpier days. I miss hanging out and laughing about her friends’ antics, or telling her every gossipy secret amongst the online gardening community. 

My sides shiver, and I realize I’m crying. 

All at once, it’s too overwhelming for me, and I sink to the floor, panicked sobs causing me double the discomfort I’d already been dealing with. 

“This isn’t fucking _fair!_”, I screech to no one, throat scratchy and painful. 

I hiccup, trying to stop the tearful tremors, but to no avail. 

It’s been so strange and awful for so very long, and now I find out that my only comfort in this odd world is apparently out to get me? Why am I here? 

What kills me is that I have missing time. What happened to me? 

Who decided that I don’t get to know the answer to that? 

Blinking away angry tears, I realize that the answer to that is probably Esther. If she’s really some sort of witch, then it’s not too crazy to assume that she’s responsible for my fuzzy memory. 

...Well, she _can_ shape-shift, I remind myself. That’s probably related as well. 

I’m brought out of my reverie by the sensation of something damp under my right hand, which I’d been leaning on to prop myself up. 

“The hell?”, I mutter, sniffling and trying to peer at the floor. 

As expected, I can’t make out shit in this pitch- blackness.

But something about the warmth all around me is beginning to unsettle me, so I get up, suck in a breath, and keep going. My pace quickens as the air heats up behind me, dusty atmosphere turning suddenly quite humid.

Thankfully, the opposing door’s outline becomes visible just as my heel lifts off of something worryingly spongy. 

I grimace as I push the door out and skid to a halt in the room I arrive in, and I swear I can see something black and slimy in the passageway before the door slams shut on its own. 

“Well _shit_”, I mutter. 

With a shuddering sigh, I turn my back on the door and check the room. 

It’s different again. Instead of candles on every surface, there are these odd, metal-and-glass lantern-things, still fire based, but much more controlled— and less waxy for sure. The walls are still wooden, but they look a bit more worn, the swirling patterns interrupted occasionally by small holes and gaps in between the planks. 

The furniture and decor aren’t much of a drastic change, but there’s a notable time skip here; I can’t say for sure, but I get the feeling it’s more recent now than it appeared to me per my last visit.

Not that I have any idea _why_, of course. It’s interesting, but I’m beginning to worry that this secondary world can’t offer me any way of escape— especially not with that weird black blob I keep seeing everywhere; not exactly promising. 

I haven’t even opened the hallway door before it swings open by itself, releasing a pale shape skipping into the room— another long-dead memory. 

It’s a girl, this time, lanky and wearing a tattered dress. 

She doesn’t seem to see me at all as she hurries past and shuts the door behind her, giggling to herself. A hand over her mouth, she dashes to the side of the bed, lowering to the floor until she’s far enough down to slide underneath. 

Not even two seconds later, the hallway door re-opens, this time revealing a taller person— a man. He leaves the door ajar as he looks around, pretending not to hear the muffled laughter from under the bed. 

I can’t help but smile tiredly. An innocent game of hide-and-seek between father and daughter isn’t what I expected to find here, but it’s a welcome change from the confusing situation I’ve just barely escaped from. I can almost forget the pain I’m in. 

Yawning, I look up at the scene before me just in time to see the girl jump out and scare her father, who’s definitely playing up his terrified reaction. There’s laughter on both sides as the pair go together out of the room, flickering as they pass the threshold, door inexplicably closing behind them without so much as a push. 

My eyes feel heavy. I go over and sit on the side of the bed, taking great care not to twist myself in any way, sighing in mild relief at the surprising softness of the mattress.

A new thought pops into my head before I can stop it— a pang of loss. Seeing the long-dead parent and kid reminds me too much of how worried I am about my own. 

I suck in a breath when I remember something crucial... 

The _deal_. 

In all the chaos of the last few minutes, I’d nearly forgotten about the note Coraline wrote. She’d offered herself in my place to an uncertain fate. 

But didn’t Esther burn the letter? Was it because she didn’t agree to its terms? 

Or maybe... because she didn’t intend to honor it? 

“Fuck”, I whisper. 

No matter what, my daughter is in danger. On the off chance that Esther intends to ignore it, Coraline will find a way to get here somehow, if she’s able to— or do something reckless trying. I know her. 

I have to stop her from coming here, or convince her to leave, I have to do _something_—

“_Gghhh!_” 

I wince at a wave of pain, curling up on the mattress. 

Cursing, I try and catch my breath. If Esther really is a witch, couldn’t she have cursed me faster? This is fucking torturous. 

Seconds later, there’s a scratching sound coming from the hallway door. 

My body seizes up despite the tremors of discomfort. 

If there’s some unholy amoeba outside, there’s literally zero chance I can do anything about it right now. Hopefully it won’t notice that I’m here, but then again, my luck has been pretty terrible as of late... 

Unexpectedly, there’s a rattling: something’s jostling the doorknob. 

I start to panic. 

Whatever it is, it knows how to get in. 

Suddenly quite cold, I yank up the bedsheets and comforter, being as still as I can through the slowly-fading pain. 

Hinges creak. 

It’s got it open. 

My hands curl into fists, nails digging into the skin of my palms. 

_Please don’t find me._

“Hello?”, inquires a voice, polite and crystal-clear. “Are you still in here?”


	9. Failure

It’s been three painfully long days since the cat took my letter to Mom. And since he doesn’t talk in this world, I have no way of knowing how it was received. 

Or if Mom’s even alive in there. 

I know she’s with _her_, though. That much is glaringly obvious to me. 

Mom wouldn’t just run off without a trace... and my best friend went missing a little while after she did. 

No way is that a coincidence. 

I’ve been having super weird dreams about Wybie almost every night lately... not _nightmares_, but dreams that are unsettling enough to make me uncomfortable in them. He’s always mute, for example. 

That obviously strikes a chord with me, but the fact that it’s the _real_ Wybie — my actual, solid, flesh-and-bone friend — that can’t talk — makes it feel supremely out of place. 

So, basically, I haven’t been feeling very well-rested these days, as one might guess. 

Today is a sunny day, which is rare, and usually something I’d like— but the mild heat is making me irritable, every part of me sorely missing seeing Mom toiling away in her garden, trying to pretend she isn’t grossed out by the very dirt she’s standing on. 

I snort at the thought, dangling my legs off of the eroded brick wall that borders part of the road. Mom’s such a funny person when she isn’t complaining. 

The cat’s been weirdly clingy lately, like he wants to tell me something, but I keep reminding him that I don’t have a key to the other world, and I don’t know any other way in. It’s useless to get all riled up over— 

Wait! 

Smacking a hand to my forehead, I realize I’ve forgotten something stupidly obvious: the cat’s talent for sneaking into the other mother’s world. 

“No wonder he won’t leave me alone”, I murmur aloud, hopping down onto yellowish grass and heading for the Lovat house. 

•••

“Are you real?”, is the first thing sputtering out of my mouth as soon as I recognize Coraline’s feline companion. 

He appears exactly as he always has, mangy and thin, with the exception of some strange facial markings I’d never noticed before. As always, he looks a little raggedy, but nothing out of the norm. 

_Except_ for the talking part.

“Of course I’m real”, the cat answers, sounding vaguely offended. “I’ve come to help you.” 

The look of disdain is so apparent on his face that I’m entirely convinced this is the same cat. 

I shrug, lowering the comforter and getting into a sitting position on the mattress. I’ll take whatever help I can get, at this rate. 

“A word of advice”, the cat drawls, hopping up to perch next to me, “I wouldn’t fall asleep here.” 

I follow him through the cold corridors, eyes peeled for phantoms and ears perked for the sound of footsteps, but we’re met with nothing and no one as I’m led into a warmly-lit, lavishly furnished dining room. 

“Wow”, I say, because it’s honestly sort of fancy in here, and I certainly hadn’t expected anything luxurious after being in that drafty old bedroom. I wonder absently how old this house’s iteration must be. 

I pull out a chair and sit down. I’m starting to get light headed— when was the last time I ate something, again? 

The cat, who’s sitting atop a side table, draws a paw over his head in an almost thoughtful way. “Stay here... you’re going to need your strength.” He jumps down and promptly leaves the room. 

Something about the way he hesitates in between his words makes me uneasy. There was audible pity in his voice just now, and I’m not sure why it seems like there’s more he isn’t saying, but I leave the matter alone for now. 

He’s not wrong, anyway. I’m starving— and probably prone to falling, if these random waves of pain keep up. 

Christ. I’ve really got to break whatever spell’s on me, if it’s even possible. 

A couple of minutes later, the cat returns with a parcel in his mouth. 

When he drops it at my feet, the bag falls open: it’s an apple and half a loaf of bread. 

I raise my eyebrows. “Thanks, but where did you even get that...?”

He blinks at me. 

“—Not that I’m not grateful”, I add. 

“It was in the kitchen.” . 

While bread and fruit isn’t usually my idea of a balanced lunch, it dulls the headache that’s been creeping up on me and seems to clear away the fog in my mind.

“You’re probably going to have more energy that usual, after that”, the cat comments. 

“Why’s that?” 

He sighs. “You’ve been eating _her_ food. What she makes is different— addictive. It’s lucky that you’ve been under the weather lately, or else you’d have been craving it virtually every minute of the day.” 

I almost want to laugh. Food cravings are the least of my problems right now, but hey, it’s always good to hear that you’ve dodged a bullet, no matter how small. 

I take a last bite of my apple and drop the core into the bag below. As I stretch my legs under the table, my gaze is drawn to a far corner of the room, near the ceiling. It looks like a water stain. 

Except water stains don’t _move_. 

I gesture to it. “Uh...” 

“Damn it. Let’s get out of here”, says the cat, and I get up, wishing I didn’t have to move. 

My mind is racing; that stain must have been the very same thing I’ve kept seeing in the shadows of this wall-world, the same dark, creepy, oozing blob... 

“In here.” 

The cat ducks into a room stemming from the hallway and I grimace as I look behind us— there’s something creeping along the ground, not nearly as fast as we are, granted, but inevitable all the same. 

I yelp in surprise; there are tiny, sharp teeth embedded in my pant leg.

I come to my senses and follow him inside, just as I begin to hear the awful thing approaching with a disgusting sound, like a pile of sentient organs. 

As soon as I close the door behind me in the slightly cramped space, I turn to the cat. 

“What is that thing?” 

“Something far older than you and I. Older than _her_, too.” He pauses to lick a paw. “Come on. We’d better keep moving.” 

The room we’ve taken refuge in is a bit narrow, but long, extending along the house’s outermost wall, numerous windows to the outside world on one side. I can’t help but glance through as we pass them. 

...Mist. It’s all mist. Not a single discernible shape lies outside the house, as far as I can tell— not even grass— or a ground at all. 

I shudder and continue on. 

At the end of the room, there’s a hole in the wall. 

It’s the only area that looks eroded by time at all, the paint all but chipped away, wooden planks looking half-eaten by termites. In the middle, I can clearly make out a space behind the mess, shrouded in shadow. 

“With luck, that’s our way out”, says the cat. “You’ll need to be careful not to injure yourself; you’re much bigger than I am.” 

I’m nervous as I crouch down somewhat uncomfortably. It really doesn’t look like I’ll be able to get through there, not without splinters. 

But the cat weaves through with practiced ease, black coat hardly visible behind the planks, vivid blue eyes the only part of him I can make out.

“Okay,” I say, partially to myself. 

This shouldn’t be hard, right? I’ve got to try. 

To my surprise, the planks aren’t as rigid as they first appear. They bend almost too easily out of my way, and before I know it, I’m past them, intact and splinter-free. 

The cat purrs, a comforting sound in the blackness. “See? That wasn’t so bad.” 

Though it’s nigh-impossible to see what I’m doing here, the path we’re on is fairly consistent; only one way to go, and no further obstacles that I can detect. Crawling is oddly difficult for me, though, and I’m out of breath sooner than I’d have expected I’d be. But I push on after the scrawny animal leading the way. 

“Is this how you got here?”, I pipe up, unsettled by the silence.

“No. Like I told you, there are many ways in— but this one would have worked just fine, if I had so chosen.” 

It isn’t too long before a new, faint light is visible in front of us. Squinting, I try to see out of it. 

Wait, that looks like— no, it is! It’s the same place we came through, bent planks and all! 

Before I can voice my confusion, the cat speaks up, “Don’t worry, Ms. Jones, the exit always mirrors the entrance.” 

I’m not totally comforted by that, but I don’t protest. Too many inexplicable things have happened lately for me to act like I know what I’m talking about. 

The cat reaches the end, darts through, and lands lightly outside of the passageway. 

“You’re almost through. Careful, now.” 

I allow myself to hope, just a little. Wherever I’m about to emerge from, I’m one step closer to getting back home— getting back to Coraline. I’ve survived. 

I take a breath and move towards the exit, resting my weight on one hand and pushing the wood further aside with the other as a precaution, although I can tell I already have enough room. 

But when I start to crawl through, I’m stopped short: My pain’s returning, and it’s not being subtle.

I make a face, resting on one shaky arm on the cold floor while the other grabs at my abdomen. “This is _terrible_ timing.” 

“What’s wrong?” The cat’s round eyes are wide. 

Wincing, I try to pull myself the rest of the way through, but as I tense to do so, the pain actually worsens, and I nearly collapse in shock. 

I’m only able to get out a couple of words.

“I can’t.” 

“But you’re so close! You’ve got to try. You’re in danger every second that you’re near that other place.” His tail lashes now, eyes darting around anxiously. 

Amongst the pain and discomfort, my mind clears a little. 

What if... 

Experimentally, I move backwards, into the shadows of the passageway. 

Immediate relief. 

“What the hell?”, I mutter, trying in vain to slow my breathing. 

“Ms. Jones? Are you alright?” 

I sit back.

“I guess I am _now_.” 

He copies me, fur laying flat as he regards that I’m no longer suffering. We’re both silent for a moment. 

I don’t understand why going through made a difference. Maybe I’m not used to the air— an atmospheric change? An allergen? There’s got to be a reasonable explanation for this.

And yet, I have the feeling that there isn’t one. Not one that makes any semblance of sense, not to me. 

But I do know that I’ll be hurting again if I continue on. 

“I can’t come through”, I repeat.

“You must.” 

I shake my head. “I know. But I can’t. It’ll hurt again.” 

It appears as though he agrees, for he doesn’t argue further, eyes cast downward at the floor.  
“Then we’ll have to find another— wait.” 

He raises his head, scenting the air. “Oh, no...” 

I physically feel my heart rate quicken. “What is it?” 

As if to answer my question, there’s a creak from behind me, long and low, like something’s weighing down each and every plank, getting steadily closer... 

I snap my head forward when the cat hisses, fur frizzed out again— an enormous, button-eyed rat is slinking around him, baring wicked, sharp yellow teeth, gnarled claws scraping menacingly at the floorboards.

“Go back!”, screeches the cat, and I’m forced to comply, too far to try and swat the thing away from him. 

From where I’ve retreated, I see him slashing viciously at the rodent, keeping its attention, but now I hear scuffling in the wood around me, growing louder by the minute. 

“There are more of them!”, I call, but he doesn’t respond, too focused on his enemy. 

I’ll just have to pray that he heard— and can still get away. 

Black shapes materialize in my line of sight, blocking the exit’s light and giving me initiative to scramble faster back the way I’d come from.

Several pieces of wood lodge themselves in my hands, but I can’t stop to pull them out, not even for a second. 

The noise is nearly deafening now. Scratching, squealing, the creaking of wood— I gasp as my back hits the edge of a wooden plank, grateful that I’ve got a sweater to cushion the blow. 

My lungs burn when I make a move to get up, but I do it anyway, staggering through the entrance I’d crawled through and landing on the other side. 

The sudden lack of noise here is almost worse. It’s much too quiet. 

“Please don’t be dead”, I whisper aloud, willing the cat to fight off his assailants and escape intact. Not only am I relying on him for guidance out of here— he’s also the closest thing I have to Coraline right now. 

I can’t fathom losing him, too. 

Another twinge of pain makes me fall halfway into a wall, just barely stopping myself from collapsing entirely. The feeling seems to spread from my abdomen to my very bones, crawling up my spine. 

_Dammit, can’t I have a break from this?_

Tears well up in my eyes as I try and block out the thought that this might not be a sickness at all. 

No... There’s no way.

I try to stand again, but something makes my insides writhe and I nearly vomit, sinking lower until I’m slumped uselessly against the wall, the floor cold under my palms as burning shockwaves of pure agony jolt through every one of my nerves. 

_Well, that’s that_, I think rather bleakly. _End of the line_. 

Here I am, doubled over and hurting, alone in a creepy, supernatural house and about to keel over and possibly die. 

To top _that_ off, my daughter’s still on her own, most likely confused and worried— I’ve lost the cat, and I’ve been cursed to die by a god damn otherworldly witch who has buttons for eyes. 

What a way to go out. 

It’s almost comical, how unreal my life has been lately. 

Exhaling through the bitter discomfort, I lean my head against the wall. 

Maybe I can close my eyes and go peacefully, like how every normal person hopes they’ll come to an end. 

I’ve almost gotten used to the pain, now. That’s bad, right? 

Not like it matters. There isn’t anything I can do about it. 

Is it getting darker in here? 

Right— the day and night cycles. Almost forgot where I was. 

I wonder why Esther still bothers doing that? To entice me? Out of boredom, maybe? I suppose I’d be bored too, if I were stuck alone in this place... 

Oh... I’m _not_ feeling on the verge of death anymore. 

Well then.

The relief I feel is amazing; I can sense every bit of tension and strain evaporating as the pain fades at last.

Heh. I could fall asleep here; I honestly don’t have it within me to care at this point. Definitely could use the rest. 

My eyes flutter closed for what feels like a second as I take a deep breath, recovering. 

And then they snap open again as something grabs my arm, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up at a voice I’d never thought I’d have to hear again. 

“How gracious of you to return, Mel.”


	10. Frozen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are multiple POV changes in this one, fair warning. 
> 
> TW for non-consensual touching.

When I don’t find the cat anywhere near the Pink Palace or its grounds, not even when I call for him to be fed, I go back to the Lovat house for my key. Mom always leaves it under the welcome mat, but it’s been with me since she and Wybie went missing. 

...You know, just in case. 

I’m thankful it’s the weekend. I’d insisted to Ms. Lovat that I hadn’t wanted to stop going to school; that would be way too weird, but there’s no way I’d have the time to do this if it were a school day. 

Well, actually, I’d pretend to be sick, but this is way easier. 

And anyways, Ms. Lovat usually takes her midday nap around now. She’ll never know a thing! 

Besides, if she wakes up, she’ll just assume I’m out in the woods again, and won’t ring any bells until it gets dark out. I should be fine. 

Pulling on one of Wybie’s hoodies, a fuzzy purple one that I’m positive he’s never dared to wear in public, I grab my house key from under my guest bed’s pillow and speedwalk out of the house. 

Shoot— Ms. Lovat’s taking her nap, all right, but she’s right near the front door and she’s a _super_ light sleeper. She must’ve just fallen asleep. 

Better go out the back one... 

Unfortunately for me, the “sliding” glass door doesn’t move very smoothly when I push it, skidding along its little rubber track and making my teeth clench— it feels like it’s so loud! 

But I don’t hear any scolding as I pry it open enough to get through, and I don’t hear my name called. The house is silent, thank the stars. 

I decide to leave it slightly open when I step out onto the back porch; it’s not like there’s anybody around here for miles, and the only animals I ever see near here are frogs and salamanders. Not exactly threatening. 

Stomping through half-dried mud puddles, I scan the area one last time for any dark speck against the landscape, but there’s still no sign of the cat anywhere. 

I’ll have to hope I see him where I’m headed. 

I could really use a friend right now. 

•••

In the space behind the mirror, everything is dark and cold. 

You wouldn’t think that a boy with no skin or nerves to speak of would feel something like that, but no— here, cold is as much of a mental feeling as it is a physical one. It seeps into every facet of who I am, and I know I’d shiver if I were actually here anymore. 

My problem is that I’m _nowhere._

Nowhere, no one. Not anymore. 

And yet... I know that I used to be someone. 

Why can’t I remember my own name?

Flashes of memories come and go, all jumbled up. I can’t seem to pinpoint how I got here in the first place, in this awful dark space where I don’t belong. 

Fondly, I remember a cat. My first friend since I’d come to visit a relative here— who was that, again? I can’t remember. 

But I know about the cat, at least, so I have that to cling to. 

That, and my uninhabited physical body, lying frozen on a rickety old mattress in the corner. 

Did I forget to mention that?

Sometimes I drift over and look at it— it’s funny, it’s somehow comforting, looking at myself. It makes me feel like there’s another person with me, though I know it’s just where I used to exist out of. 

I joke with physical-me when I’m feeling bored, which is all the time, really— I tease him about his messy hair, knowing my pale copy’s self has the same issue, or I put transparent hands through my body’s coat and pretend I’m pickpocketing him. 

Y’know, normal things you do with your host body. 

But I’m not happy here. Never. 

Not even when I’m trying to be silly with myself— I don’t know if any of the _happy_ came with me when I left my skin and bones behind. 

I wish that I wasn’t like this. I want to feel warm, again, because despite not knowing much about myself, I know that being solid again would warm me up for sure. I’m sick of feeling empty. 

If only I knew how to get myself back. It’s all I want, really. All I’d ever ask anyone for, if there were anyone else here to grant me that. 

But... there’s not. 

The worst thing about it is that I don’t know if this’ll pass, and I’ll wake up from this nightmare of an existence— or if this goes on until the end of time. 

Phasing across the room as I so often am prone to doing, I study the walls, my own form’s dim glow illuminating tally marks and games of tic-tac-toe left by no one I’ve ever met before. 

Scanning the corners, I find a space where there are words scratched into the walls: three separate names. 

Two that I don’t recognize, but when I see the third, I pause. It looks familiar— a feeling I don’t remember ever experiencing. 

But the family name carved into the wall is the same as mine, without question. 

_Lovat_. 

•••

_Fuck._

I want to move away, out of reach, but I’m burned out from enduring the last few minutes. Esther’s pale hand around my arm doesn’t budge, long fingers like a vice around me as she pulls me to my feet so roughly that my stomach flips and I stumble into her like a drunkard. 

She tsks. “Not feeling well, are we? Why don’t I help with that?” 

“_No!_”, I rasp, trying and failing to free myself.

“I was only asking out of politeness, pet.” 

She wraps her other arm under my thighs and lifts me clean off the floor without hesitation, carrying me like a child into the hallway. 

In spite of my growing terror, I can’t muster up the energy to fight her. My head droops, a dead weight on my own shoulders, and I watch the fabric of her dress move as she walks through the house. 

She sets me down— I flinch, supporting myself on the wall outside the dining room. 

“Are you going to kill me?”, I ask hesitantly. 

Esther smiles, black hair moving slightly as if in a breeze that I can’t feel. “Of course not. But I’ll be closing up that dreadful place you’ve just crawled through.” She pauses, folds her hands together. “We wouldn’t want any _pests_ sneaking in.” 

“Cats are the opposite of pests”, I bite back, immediately regretting it. 

I watch her expression sour. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve severely screwed up, but then she schools her features into a tight smile and proceeds to ignore my comment. 

“I’m going to relieve you of your pain. Would you prefer to be standing or not?” 

I tense. 

She hasn’t even told me what she’s cursed me with— why should I trust that she’s going to undo it? And what does she mean, _relieve_ me of my pain? 

...Is she _actually_ going to kill me? 

Not a single word gets out of my mouth before Esther frowns, and I berate myself inwardly for having such a clear mental voice in the presence of an omnipotent magic-user. 

Moving slowly, she steps closer, and I’m reminded of how terrifyingly tall she is as she looms over me. 

“Mel, I’m very offended. I wasn’t aware that you viewed new life as a _curse_.” 

My insides churn. 

There it is— the thought I’ve been dreading to entertain this entire time. 

That impossible possibility. 

She’s cursed me with pregnancy, of all things. 

I can physically feel my face heat up. This woman may be cunning, malicious, and frighteningly powerful, but I can’t contain the anger I harbor for this. This is crossing a fucking line. 

“What right did you have to _do_ that?”, I spit. “I don’t care what magical repercussions there are, undo your fucking spell right now.” 

Immediately, she’s at my throat— literally— a cold, taloned hand wrapped around it and an unsettling grin on her lips. 

“Speak to me in that way again, and I’ll give you another one. Early.” 

Her grip doesn’t let up, but she takes her other hand off of my shoulder before I notice it was even there. “And darling, I’m afraid that isn’t possible. I never cast any curse on you.” 

“_What?!_” 

Esther’s grin widens, revealing long white teeth, some of them just a little too sharp. 

It reminds me very strongly of a snarling animal. I panic, hands flying to my throat and trying to wrench her off of me. 

She’s faster. 

Grabbing one of my wrists, she slams it back against the wall, hard, and I feel something crack, making me cry out in pain. I can still feel my fingers, but something is clearly broken, and I don’t even register it when she pins down my other one. 

I’m given no time at all to recover. Esther’s thin, harsh body caves me into the wall as she leans forward— rather unexpectedly pressing her lips against mine. 

It’s soft, for a brief instance. My breathing slows. I don’t know what the hell she’s doing, or what to expect. 

So I stay as still as I can. 

My startled yelp is muffled against her as a stinging pain begins in my bottom lip, and I realize: she’s sunk her fang into it. 

As one might expect, I freak out. 

Somehow, I find enough strength to free my good hand, tearing it out of her grasp and shoving her off of me, making the stinging sensation worsen significantly as she rips her pointed canine out of my skin, grinning madly. 

I don’t know where I’ll even go— I’m scrambling at this point. I need to hide, I need to get away... 

By the time I realize Esther isn’t rushing after me, my legs are already failing, arms beginning to feel like dead weights attached to my torso.

“What did you _do?_”, I wheeze, knees hitting the floor. Every nerve in my body feels hyperactive and yet frozen solid. 

Esther doesn’t say anything, but laughs lowly, bending down to pull me up. 

My legs lock underneath me, but she’s still propping me up herself, one slender arm around my back. 

“Perhaps I can jog your memory.” 

And with that, she kisses me again, roughly, digging long nails into the back of my sweater, her thigh shoved possessively between my legs. 

I start to cry, but even my sobs are suppressed. 

I don’t want this. I want to be home. Safe. With Coraline...

My head spins then, as I’m overcome with an abrupt sense of dejá vù. 

Familiarity. 

This isn’t the first time that I’ve— that she’s— 

Oh, _god_. 

The missing time I’d had is now as clear to me as crystal, as if I’d simply forgotten and been reminded of what happened. 

I’d come here. I’d found this place on my own. 

And I’d woken her— that _creature_— up. 

_This horrible fucking venom again,_ I think, trying with everything I have to move literally any of my limbs. _I remember this. _

I remember every single hellish time she did this to me.

I _hate_ this. 

...Yet there’s the smallest spark, somewhere inside of me, that suggests otherwise. 

It’s subtle, but it’s there. 

It’s the part that wants to yield to her, the part that threatens to drag me down with it into a spiral of defeat and shame. 

I hate that just as much as I hate Esther. 

Mostly because it’s starting to get to me. 

And I’m fighting it, of course, trying to cling on to the sane half of my brain, willing myself to black out, or try to zone out— to ignore the ember that wants to ignite. 

But damn, is it persistent. 

Esther’s hand slides around to the back of my neck, her lack of warmth sending a chill down my spine. 

The feeling of blood seeping from my lip is beginning to die down— when I make myself open my eyes, there’s a glistening red smear of it on her mouth. Her tongue pokes out and licks it off, which is simultaneously sickening and mesmerizing. I find myself focusing on it as it passes back between her lips, white teeth exposed again for an instant. 

There’s a hand sliding smoothly under my sweater, and I’d been too busy watching her face to notice where it was headed. 

_Oh fuck no_. 

I manage to twist myself to dodge her, despite the paralysis. Her hand misses my bra and instead glides over my ribcage. 

Esther isn’t phased, though, and I don’t have any energy left to keep on struggling as she corrects the motion— I grit my teeth in frustration as her hand finally wriggles under my bra, slowly cupping my breast. 

“I thought you’d be _excited_ to be a mother again”, she sighs, fingers still moving under my sweater to trace my collarbone. 

“M’ already— a —mother,” I choke out, coughing with the effort. 

She laughs, a harsh sound. “Oh, really? To that little blue-haired brat you call a daughter?” 

Though my wrist still hurts horribly, I tense it, shaking. 

“I’m sorry, did that strike a nerve?” 

God, what I wouldn’t give to slap that smirk off of her face. 

To my horror, the clip on my bra snaps suddenly at the pressure she’s putting on it. 

_Perfect. Just my luck— I’ve got a fucking strapless one on_. 

Esther pulls it down, lets it fall to the floor. 

She removes her hand from my neck, then, leaning closer and staring right at me with her empty eyes as she slips that one under my sweater, too. 

Furiously, I try to jerk my leg up to kick her, but it barely gets off the floor. 

Clearly elated at my response, the witch snickers cruelly and slides both of her hands over my chest, bare and unprotected under the sweater. 

Even as my eyes well up with angry tears, I lift my chin and look her right in her button eyes. 

“_Fuck. You._”

Sharp nails dig into my skin and I choke back a scream, resisting the urge to bang my fists against the wall and make things considerably worse. 

My face is still hot with shame and anger. I swear, I’ll fucking kill her for this. 

But all murderous thoughts are forced from my mind when she rips away quite abruptly, and I collapse, no longer being propped against the wall. 

Blinking numbly, I’m just starting to get the feeling back into my limbs when I feel a tremendous exhaustion blanket me, and I stop trying to pick myself up. 

I simply don’t have the strength anymore. 

The last thing I register before slipping into unconsciousness is Esther waving a hand as she leaves down the hall, bizarrely-shaped creatures stepping out into it in her wake and approaching me where I lay. 

“Put her somewhere comfortable.” 

•••

Crouched in the drawing room, I’m staring in disbelief at the wall. 

The door is swung wide open, a sinister passageway unfolding behind it, covered in cobwebs and debris like how I last remember it. 

So I was right, then. 

She does have Mom. 

It takes me a minute to snap out of it, trying to force down the fear brewing in my stomach. 

Okay.... the door _here_ is open, but what about the opposing one? 

Eugh. I really hate touching cobwebs, but there’s no chance I’m letting that stop me from finding my mom right now, so I suck it up, lower myself onto my hands and knees, and start to crawl. 

It’s cold in the passageway, and deathly silent. Some of the cobwebs look like they’re broken, but I can’t tell if that’s since I escaped, or from someone else coming through here. 

Would Mom have gone in here willingly, if she could? Or did the other mother take Mom herself, like last time? Maybe she tricked her into coming. 

What I really don’t get is why. Why would Mom have opened it if she’d already seen the brick wall? How did she even— 

Oh.

I feel cold as I remember having forgotten my necklace at home. Why didn’t I destroy it, or hide it? I’m such an idiot! 

Well... even so, I can’t beat myself up right now. I’ve got to get Mom back. 

Again. 

With a deep breath, I push my hand against the door to the other world... 

And it swings open.


	11. Forfeit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I’m finally back in action after being sick for nearly a week, amongst other IRL things. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who’s stuck around and thanks for being patient! 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, I’ll be making an attempt to post semi-regularly now that I’m better. 
> 
> •••

Dark shapes swim in my vision as I struggle to open my eyes. 

At first, I think I’ve been blinded somehow, my skin prickling at the very thought of it, but then I realize that something else, something silky and smooth, is blocking the light. 

Dammit. I need to get the hell out of here, wherever I am, and not being able to see anything certainly isn’t helping my case. 

Wincing, I nearly bite my tongue in surprise at the twinge of pain in my lip— the bitemark is still tender. 

I move my arms experimentally and gasp in pain. 

Cringing at the feeling of pins and needles under my skin, I carefully relax a hand. I’d forgotten about my wrist, which is wrapped in the same silky stuff as I am, forming a crude cast. Which I’m definitely not going to acknowledge is made of literal spiderwebs. Ugh... 

Despite my trapped state, I‘m able to get a sense of where I am from the air and rare glimpses of light that peek past my grotesque blindfold— it’s actually a little humid, warm, even, and I can just minimally see that I’m surrounded by what seem to be endless pillars of this stuff. 

For the first time today, I’m suddenly as unsettled as I was when I first got here. It looks like a completely alien world. 

Nauseated, I decide to force my eyes back closed (not an easy feat under the oppressive web), even if not seeing anything is almost as frightening as what I _am_ seeing. 

There’s a sharp creak somewhere to my left; something wooden and rickety, but not a door on hinges. I risk opening my left eye to try and peer through the gaps in my blindfold, trying to keep my breathing slow and even. 

At first, I don’t see anything new. The noise stops, and I’m left with the same, airy sort of quiet that I’d awoken to. 

Not good. 

I feel myself tense. 

Finally, the gap in the blindfold near my left eye shifts enough for me to see a gaping hole in the ceiling— which itself had been previously indistinguishable from the rest of the room— a dark tunnel, looking much like where a venomous spider might live and wait for its prey. 

A subtle thump beside me tells me that whatever’s in there isn’t waiting, though. 

An icy cold seizes me as I try very hard not to move, willing whatever’s here to leave and not notice me. There’s no fucking way this is how I die. 

Right as the gap shifts again, impairing my vision, a large, serpentine shape scuttles past me, and I feel every one of its many steps as it does so, even though I’m suspended in mid-air. I can’t suppress the shiver that runs through me. 

Luckily, though, the thing doesn’t seem to pause to regard me, or get any closer. 

Amazingly, I can feel with relative certainty exactly where the thing is, how fast it’s going, and how heavy it is, minuscule shocks of energy present everywhere the web-stuff touches me. I close my eyes to focus on the sensation. 

It begins to fade, in both the foreign sense and my sense of hearing, until I feel like I can relax again. It didn’t notice me, whatever it was. 

I let my limbs go slack. 

Okay.

If I want to get out of here, I’ve got to calm down, and I’ve got to think rationally. 

Maybe this stuff is like duct tape. Maybe— gross or not— I could try and lick it to get rid of its adhesive nature? 

I shiver again, but I know I’ve got to try _something_, so I start to open my mouth. 

Nothing. My jaw’s clamped closed— tightly. I literally can’t open my mouth at all. 

Fuck. Of course. 

I don’t know why I expected that to work. 

To make matters worse, as I strain to see out of the thin gaps in the webbing, a small, hanging object becomes visible a mere few feet from me. It’s the strapless bra I’d been wearing, and it’s only now that I realize it isn’t even mine. The edges are bordered with a delicate-looking black lace, a myriad of strings and ties intercrossing in the front, much like a corset. 

Definitely not like anything I’d have in _my_ wardrobe. 

I frown— Esther probably fabricated it herself, like how she fabricated everything _else_ in this hellscape, the conniving bitch. 

God. I’m tearing that thing in half if I get the chance. Anything to spite her. 

I gasp as there’s another vibration in the web from directly behind me. 

I can’t speak, but I wouldn’t be able to get anything out even if I weren’t bound. 

A cold sort of fear is seeping into my bones, creeping up my spine as I anticipate an attack. If she’s back already, then there’s zero chance I’m getting out of here. 

But I don’t feel two distinct footsteps on the ground, when the movement starts up again— not like how I’d imagine someone walking to feel like. It’s much more than two. 

And while I remember that Esther sometimes takes different forms, this feels familiar in a different way. 

It’s got to be the thing I’d seen only a minute or so ago. I’m sure of it. 

But how on earth did it get behind me without me noticing? 

An unnerving sound nearby interrupts my train of thought; it’s like a soft grating, the sound of many moving parts sliding over one another, like armor. 

Like an exoskeleton. 

From what I can tell, the creature is heavy and long-bodied, certainly much larger than I am. But it’s not Esther. I’d know if it were. 

I squeak when something jostles me: the thing is touching the rope of web attached to my legs. It’s practically leaning on it! 

Under the tension, the rope snaps harshly, making the rest of my bound form dip down until my knees are on the uncomfortably soft floor, and I grimace, despite the anxiety of the moment— it feels like I’m kneeling on boiled rice. 

As I am, I can’t do much about my position, struggling to hold myself up on my knees, but to my relief, the webbing across my face slips off as I’m dislodged from my original place, and even the rope holding my jaw closed comes undone, finally freeing my head.

Just like I’d spotted through the blindfold earlier, the room is entirely white, massive pillars of webs stretching from floor to ceiling across the span of it for as far as I can see. 

I still can’t see what’s behind me, but I’m able to feel the thing moving slightly away as it backs up. 

I hold my breath helplessly, hoping it isn’t going to bite or sting me. 

I count to five in my head. Nothing. 

To my relief, the creature moves away, to my left, and I’m finally able to identify it: a massive, button-eyed centipede. 

...Which would normally scare the living shit out of me, mind you, but I can’t help but feel at peace around this one. It seems like the gentle-giant type. 

As it crawls off in an arbitrary direction on its hundred hooked legs, I wiggle in my restraints; that thing snapping the web on my legs had actually given me enough space to get myself out of the other bonds. I lean my full weight on the webs around my arms, letting my lower half go limp, and presto, I’m loose in less than five seconds. I’m careful not to yank my injured wrist too hard as I gradually pull free, leaving the makeshift cast still wrapped around it.

Stubborn stray wisps cling to my sweater and pants, but I don’t have time to care. My goal is to get out of here. 

But how? 

Well... the centipede isn’t yet out of my sight. And I’ve not got a lot of options here, so I get to my feet, swaying a little before finding my balance, and start after it at a cautious pace, pointedly avoiding the bra strung up nearby as an obvious gloat. 

Much to my own surprise, I’m not scared in the slightest as I approach the massive bug. 

It’s still ambling forward, picking its way through the room’s thick tangle of webbing, occasionally snipping strands with sharp, deadly-looking mouthparts. 

I glance at where it’s facing— it’s begun to hollow out a tunnel into the wall. 

I keep a careful watch as the centipede makes steady progress into the wall, waiting for my turn to follow it in. This might be my only ticket out of here— so this is a risk I’ll have to take. 

I’d rather deal with an animal than a monster. 

•••

The other mother’s world is a whole lot dustier than I remember. 

Intricate, yes. Fancy, yes. 

But it’s definitely _older_-looking. The house no longer resembles my own. 

Instead, as I stand up in the equivalent of the drawing room, pushing the little door closed behind me, I see dark wood, old paintings, and velvety furniture. 

It feels less familiar and more like _her_. 

Which isn’t a good thing. 

How is she still alive and functioning? Didn’t she beg me to stay, because she needed me —no— my soul? 

Oh, god. 

She _got_ somebody, didn’t she. 

My heart begins to race, and I get very nauseous all at once, head spinning. I’ve got to find Mom. 

I’ve got to strike that deal. Me for Mom. 

Of course, I won’t actually honor it. I don’t _want_ to die. 

I want that horrid, evil witch to perish once and for all, and for everything to go back to normal again. 

I want Mom to be safe. I want Wybie to be safe. 

I guess I’d better start looking. 

I’m hyper-aware of the sound of my own footsteps as I cross the room to where it leads into the hallway, trying to breathe quietly so I can hear the tiniest of creaks in the stony-silent house. 

But there’s no sound, apart from me, not at first. 

So I tiptoe slowly down the halls, making sure to walk on the rugs to muffle the noise. If I get caught, it might skew my chances of finding Mom first. 

That’s my plan, anyway. Find Mom and Wybie, find an escape route, and make a diversion, if necessary. 

I’d sure appreciate it if the other mother never saw me at all, though. That way, we could just slip away. 

We might have to move houses to get away from her, since I’m guessing she has the key— but at least we’d be out. 

I wish the cat were here. He’d know what to do. 

Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him since he came back from delivering my letter. I hope he’s okay. If the other mother caught him somehow... 

“—Gah!” 

I jump nearly a foot in the air when there’s a faint bump from behind me. I turn. 

It’s funny, I almost feel like I’ve been here before, but the hallway is still unfamiliar... oh. 

There’s a mirror at the end. 

Just like the _other_ other house. 

But... I freed the ghost children. There’s no one left in there, not unless it’s some nasty, button-eyed rat lurking about. 

Ugh. No thank you. 

When I turn back around, another noise starts from somewhere else in the house I can’t quite place. 

Singing. 

It’s a voice. 

A pleasant, sugary one— a voice that I know all too well. 

It seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, not words, only drawn-out notes... 

Before I can scope out a hiding place, I see a dark wooden door swing out into the hallway in front of me. 

When it closes, there’s someone standing there. A woman. 

Not Mom. 

Not a figure I remember. 

But it’s still _her_. I know it. 

I know it from her thinness, from the way the figure tilts her head just so. 

I know it from the blackness of her hair, how it moves subtly when there’s no breeze. 

And I know it from the glinting of dim candlelight on her black button eyes as she comes nearer, walking as if she were hovering above the ground, looming right in front of me before I can register it, like an optical illusion. 

The other mother grins down at me, and for the first time since I’ve had the misfortune of meeting her, I know I’m seeing her real face. 

“Welcome back, Coraline”. 

“Where are Mom and Wybie? I know you have them.” 

She shrugs, as if she doesn’t know. “I wouldn’t know. But I wouldn’t need them if I had _you_, you know.” 

I frown. 

She’s confirming the deal I proposed, which is good, but I need to make sure that Mom and Wybie are okay before I agree to anything, much less try to trick her again. 

“Time’s running out, Coraline. Are you going to make a deal with me, or not?” She sounds impatient. 

I nod. “I am. But I have conditions.” 

“Oh?” 

“I need to see Mom. I need to know she’s okay.” 

“Simple enough.” 

“And Wybie, too. He’s been missing as well.” 

The other mother purses her lips at that, but then nods, slowly, as if thinking it over. 

“Very well.” 

Okay. This is good. 

After I see where she’s keeping them, I’ll know where they are, and I might be able to coordinate an escape later. But first I need to buy us some time. 

“Show me them first. I’m not trading myself in before I know you’ll let them go.” 

Silently, the other mother nods, beckoning me to follow with a long finger. She glides past me and stops in front of the mirror I’d just passed. 

She places a slender hand upon the glass, and it begins to emit a greenish sort of glow, like how the other mirror had back when she’d put me through it. She steps through, but one of her hands is left behind for me to take. 

I push down my disdain and take it, letting her pull me to the other side. 

When I land, it’s very dark and cramped, but familiar. It’s the same tiny room I’d met the ghost children in, complete with a rickety old mattress and countless soggy newspapers strewn across the damp floor. 

Suddenly, there’s a light: a firefly! 

Despite knowing that it’s merely a twisted version of the real bug, I can’t help but appreciate the tiny thing as it comes to life, resting in the palm of the other mother’s hand and providing just enough light to see a prone form on the mattress. 

_Wybie_. 

Wait. What is this, Sleeping Beauty? Why is he unconscious? 

Or is he— no... 

“Why’s he like that? Is he breathing?!”, I demand, yanking my hand free of her and rushing to my friend’s side. 

He’s freezing to the touch, but he looks peaceful, undisturbed. 

And yet, somehow... off. 

There’s a slight sheen to his skin and clothes that doesn’t look right, but then again, I could really just assume it’s the weird lighting. 

“Worry not, he’s only asleep”, says the other mother, quickly closing her palm and snuffing out the firefly’s meager light. 

“Now, let’s move along to your mother, shall we?” 

The other mother navigates the house easily, and I follow closely behind, wary of every shadow and dark corner we pass on the way. 

At last, she stops at a rather large trapdoor in the ground. 

It opens by itself, slamming backwards onto the floor, and I make a face at what I see below: spider-webs. 

My-freaking-favorite. 

As expected, the other mother gestures for me to go first, so I ignore every instinct telling me to run and comply. 

Thankfully, the door doesn’t shut after I drop down onto the spongy surface underfoot. I shudder and move aside for the other mother to come down behind me, but she doesn’t jump. 

I see her snap her fingers through where I’d just jumped down from. The space above me opens up further, and shapes begin to form from the surrounding webs: a staircase, I realize, an elegant white design. 

It’s almost funny how unnecessary that was, but I’ve got to admit— she knows how to make an entrance. 

All notions of jokes are gone, however, when the other mother steps down to my level and immediately starts walking without a word, her long dress and shoes somehow not catching at all in the webs she walks on. 

I have no choice but to follow, wishing I’d thought to have brought a pocket knife or something. 

I don’t like being basically defenseless around her. 

The creepy web-room is light enough to see in, but dim enough to question every shape and shadow I come across. It appears to extend fairly far in most visible directions, the general layout resembling what I’d imagine a cave system to be like. I find myself swatting at the air in front of me often to banish any silken strand that clings to my face and hair. 

After what feels like twenty minutes, the other mother takes a turn into a new ‘room’, and I see something small and dark suspended in the distance right away, though I can’t tell what it is.

I wonder if it means Mom’s nearby? 

I don’t get the chance to ask before the other mother stops me with a hand, having stopped walking herself. 

“Is Mom here?”, I ask, flinching away from her touch, but she isn’t facing me. 

She’s facing the distant object, but now I see what she must actually be looking at. 

A hole in the wall, only visible due to the lack of light inside. 

“That’s not right”, she murmurs, moving towards it. 

As I follow, and as she goes to where the hole is, I veer off slightly, towards the small object. 

Uh... it’s... is that a _bra?_

I have no idea what to make of it being here, but I don’t really care. I just want to see that Mom’s okay. 

Clearly, however, Mom isn’t anywhere nearby, not from the scowl on the other mother’s face as I turn back to where she is. 

“Dear _Melissa_ seems to have lost her way”, she says, sounding a lot cheerier than she looks. 

“Are you saying she’s not here?” 

“I’m saying”, replies the other mother, frowning, “that we’re going to have to find her. And you’d better hope that _you_ find her first.” 

With that, she makes a motion with her arm, and the hole stitches itself closed. 

Then, she holds out a hand for me to take again— but I hesitate. 

“How do I know you haven’t hidden her on purpose?” 

The other mother smiles, but I get the feeling it’s not a friendly one. “Why would I drag this out, dearest? I want our deal to be done with as much as you do.” 

For once, I believe her.

I take her still-extended hand, and she makes another waving motion, this time causing the walls to shift around us, webs disconnecting and re-attaching until there’s a neat, door-shaped tunnel into the wall. 

I step after the other mother into the passageway, and blink in wonder at what’s at the other end— the same drawing room I’d first stumbled into upon crawling into this world. 

Oh, well. Not like that’s anything new here. 

I can hear the wall closing itself behind me when I follow her into the drawing room, a mixture of splintering wood and the tearing of silk. It almost sounds organic. 

The other mother releases my hand from her cold grasp and turns to me. “I’m going to search for her alone. If you find her first, simply return to this room and knock on this wall. I’ll hear.” 

“Fine.” 

I watch as the woman glides out into the hall, dress ghosting over the floorboards as she does until she’s finally out of sight. 

But not out of mind. 

I make sure to keep quiet as I leave after her to find the hallway, as expected, completely empty and silent. 

Deal or no deal, I can’t trust something like her to keep her word. 

Especially not after I broke her rules last time. 

•••

I’m amazed at how gracefully the centipede moves as I follow it through the narrow spaces between the walls of the house. 

It seems to know its way around, and I suspect it’s been surviving here quite a long time on its own without being detected. I get the feeling that Esther isn’t too keen on sharing her world with anything but herself. 

Surprisingly, I’m not met with many cobwebs as we make our way through the tunnels, but then I realize that the centipede’s probably kept them away with how often it must crawl through here. 

The creature in front of me stops without warning, and I nearly crash into it before I look to where its head is pointed at: the tunnel extends vertically here, but no further horizontally. 

Great. How am I meant to get up there? It’s solid wood, and I can barely see as it is, so I’m not risking a broken bone for a height I almost certainly won’t be able to climb. 

But the centipede doesn’t hesitate for long. 

Craning its massive, segmented head, it swivels to face me, its burgundy-brown button eyes glinting in the low light, and clicks its pincers once. 

I snort. “Sorry, I don’t speak bug.” 

It clicks again, pointing its head towards its own back. 

“...Ohhhh.” 

Trying not to think about how ridiculous this all is, I hoist myself onto its back with my good arm. The massive insect’s body is segmented, but actually rather smooth and easy to hold onto. 

It’s funny, I think I’m better at riding centipedes than I ever was at horses, but then again, I wasn’t really into it back then. 

The head turns back, and the centipede proceeds to start scaling the vertical wooden surface in front of us, its legs piercing the thin planks with ease until we level out again. 

As the creature straightens out, spots of light begin to dart out at me around the thing’s head— we’re about to leave the tunnel. 

The centipede’s head disappears past the edge of the wall and I brace myself to get off. 

We land in a room with a low ceiling, but there’s sunlight seeping in, or whatever fake light source Esther might’ve created to illuminate this world. 

Dismounting the centipede as gently as I can, I take in the room. 

It looks like an attic— it looks familiar. 

I realize that I’ve _been_ here, when I woke up for the second time, when Esther played innocent and made up a false story to sate my curiosity. 

Back when I’d been under her spell.

The bug, who’d remained motionless for a moment, starts to crawl back into where we’d come out of, and I can’t help but give it a little parting wave as it passes me. 

In a rather cute gesture, the centipede clicks softly at me before ducking back into the tunnel, and I smile to myself. 

_Thank you_. 

Falling in blurred patterns on the ground, the artificial sunbeams make the attic look almost cozy as I take in the details of the space. 

Spools of thread and soft fabric, every color of the rainbow and more, are everywhere— stacked neatly on wooden shelves, leaning against the central table, some of them entirely shrouded in thick, soft-looking cobwebs, which make the room look positively ancient. 

Curiously, there are charming little patterns on the wallpaper, designs consisting of dainty songbirds and twirling, faded leaves. 

Upon the wooden table in the middle of the attic, there’s a thin wooden box, several pincushions, various tools, and an old sewing machine. 

I sit down in the chair next to it with a sigh, running my hand over the black metal wheel of the machine. 

How in the hell am I ever going to get out of here? 

I don’t know where to go. 

Sure, I got out of that awful web-chamber. But it’s not like I had a plan. I have no way of fighting her, no way of getting out safely. 

And no way of preventing myself from birthing her fucking... _spawn_. 

Shuddering, I put a hand over my middle, petrified of feeling any movement. I don’t want to believe this is really happening to me. 

It _can’t_ be. 

And yet it is, whether I want it to or not. 

What rotten luck, huh? 

Just as I’m letting my gaze drift dully out of focus, there’s a faint wooden creak from right behind me. 

Instantly, I get up and spin around, muscles tensed to run... 

Until I realize who it is. 

I’m unable to formulate a sentence before my favorite blue-haired preteen is hugging me fiercely, making me wince in slight pain. 

“Mom”, whispers Coraline. “I found you.” 

“You’re real, right?”, I croak, not daring to move, not wanting to spoil it. 

Coraline pulls back from me and gives me a sassy expression, one eyebrow raised dramatically, as is her fashion. 

“There’s that face of yours”, I murmur. 

I hug her back. She’s so warm. So human. 

Sighing, I’m the one to pull back this time, wishing I didn’t have to. “I’ve missed you.” 

Coraline nods. “Me too. I knew she was keeping you here again, though, I never thought you left, or anything. You wouldn’t.” 

“Never.” 

She glances down at my web-wrapped wrist and makes a face. “What’s up with your hand?” 

”Fell on it wrong— I tripped. It was dark”, I lie, relieved when she doesn’t question it. 

Then she squints. “Uh... what happened to your lip?” 

“Bug bite... I’m okay, honey.” 

We both smile, and it’s tender, for a moment, in the dusty old attic, tender and soft like how  
it always has been between us, save for our occasional petty arguments. 

I nearly cry, but I don’t let myself. “How did you find me? Where’s Esther?” 

Coraline frowns. “Who’s... oh. She’s looking for you.” She pauses, glancing around nervously, as if anticipating something. “We have to hurry and find the door before she stops us.” 

I nod in agreement and follow my daughter back the way she came, a faded door that I hadn’t noticed before and can’t imagine how to get into— but something about how she sounds almost apologetic is getting to me. It’s almost as if she’s trying not to say something. 

“C’mon”, Coraline whispers, as I pass over the threshold behind her. “She might already know that we’re together.” 

Silently, I comply, trying not to blurt out every worried question I have, trying not to feel dread at the notion of telling her what I’ve been through— or keeping it from her. Would she be able to handle it? 

Would she stick by my side through the process of an abortion? Or would she be too shell-shocked? 

Maybe... she’d be disgusted. 

Not with me, not directly, but it would feel the same. Shameful. Unspeakable. 

Grotesque, even. 

I decide to hold my tongue until I can be certain we’ll both make it out of this in one piece. There’s no reason to stress her out right now. 

Coraline seems more in her element than I am as we move through the house— just as cautious, but twice as focused. Neither of us speak a word until she finally leads me to the hallway I recognize with some dull discomfort. 

“Okay, the door isn’t too far from here”, Coraline whispers. “Let’s hurry.” 

Leading me by the hand, she ducks to my left into what I recognize as this house’s drawing room, floorboards creaking underneath us as we skid to a halt once inside. 

But Coraline’s hand tenses in mine as we’re met with none other than Esther, standing directly in front of where the door is and twirling a black key in her slender hand. 

Esther smiles. “Good, you’ve found each other.” She turns to me. “I was beginning to worry you’d gone off and hurt yourself, you poor dear!” 

I don’t respond, squeezing my daughter’s hand for comfort and trying to ignore the seize of fear in my chest. 

Coraline squeezes back and lets go, stepping towards Esther. 

“Is Wybie still here?” 

Esther sighs, twirling the key again, taking her time. 

Coraline taps her foot. “Well?” 

Her tone is challenging, but her expression betrays her nerves. I want to give her hand another squeeze, but I wait, suddenly wary of Esther’s silence. 

“Not exactly”, she finally answers, not sounding in the slightest bit sympathetic. 

My insides churn both figuratively and literally, apprehension mixing unpleasantly with the thing growing in my body. 

I saw how Esther mutilated that boy. 

I _heard_ him screaming. 

And I watched as he faded away. 

God. Coraline can’t handle this right now, no matter how tough she acts— not when we’re so close to safety, not when our lives are at stake. 

I don’t know if I have it in me to tell my little girl that her best friend is dead.

“His body is still here”, says Esther, and I want to vomit at the thought of the poor kid decomposing in some cold, dark room. 

“But it appears as if his soul has wandered off somewhere”, she adds. 

...His _what?!_

Shocked and confused, I look to Coraline, but she doesn’t seem as surprised as I am. She just looks irritated. 

“What? You’re lying!” 

“I’m afraid not, Coraline. I’d offer to give you more time, but this complicates things...” 

Coraline scoffs, hands clenched into angry fists. “How is that our fault? Don’t you control this whole freaking _dimension?_ Just get him back in his body and let them go!” 

Esther’s face actually twitches, a gesture so eerie and unhinged that I flinch. 

“I can’t allow this insolence from you right now. You’re going to have to forfeit your little friend, darling.” 

I clear my throat, and both heads turn to me at once, as if they’d forgotten I was here. 

“I don’t know what you’ve done to that boy, but you need to let him out along with Coraline”, I say, somehow not stumbling over my words. “I’m not letting you harm my kid or my neighbor’s kid. Not again.” 

Esther’s grip on the black key visibly tightens. “Then what are you proposing, Mel? Because _one_ of you is staying. It’s got to be someone.” 

“Me”, I blurt. “I’ll stay.” 

Coraline’s head whips around in an almost comical blue blur. “No way. That wasn’t the deal I made—“ 

“Deal? So that letter I saw really was yours?”, I exclaim. 

“_What?_ You _read_ it?” 

“Does it matter? You’re not trading yourself for me, Coraline!”, I cry, my hand flying to my middle as a wave of pain ripples through me, making me double over. 

Coraline’s anger fades in a second as she rushes to my side. “Mom...?” 

Fuck. Why now? Why NOW? 

My frantic thoughts are interrupted by a soft chuckling from next to us. 

_Please don’t tell her,_ I think. _She’ll never agree to leave if she knows._

“Mom? What’s wrong?” 

I shake my head. “Stomach flu. I’m fine.” 

Another wave of pain passes through me and I nearly black out, dropping painfully to my knees with a gasp. 

“What did you do?”, Coraline shouts, but Esther just shakes her head, a wry grin on her face. 

“Oh, darling, I’m sure you don’t want to know.” 

I’m unable to prevent it when Coraline cries out in fury, grabbing a small wooden side-table and hurling it with surprising strength at the gaunt woman. 

Esther staggers back, snarling, to avoid it as it crashes to the floor, legs snapping off and sending splinters flying everywhere— my ears perk up at the crystal-clear sound of the key hitting the floor.

Coraline takes me by the arm and yanks me to my feet while Esther’s occupied, snatching the key from the floor as she rushes to the door. 

She barely has time to cram it into the keyhole before there are hands tearing me violently away from her. 

I yelp as Esther grabs me, landing flat on my back and scrambling like a flipped beetle to try and get my bearings. 

I hear the lock click and the door open, but I’m being dragged from it, and I’m in too much pain to stop her. 

“Get off of her!”, Coraline screams, throwing herself at Esther. 

Esther’s iron hold on me comes loose as she blocks Coraline with both hands, slamming her bodily to the floor, but I have enough time to roll away and land by the now open door. 

Coraline, agile as a cat, dodges Esther’s pointed black heel as she aims a nasty kick at her. I gasp in relief, springing up as quickly as I reasonably can to pull Coraline out of Esther’s reach with my good hand and jump down towards the door. 

Coraline crawls in, nearly falling in her haste, and I stay back, kicking out at Esther when she tries to grab me again. 

“_NO!_ Get back here!”, Esther screeches, clawing at me as I push myself away from her into the tunnel, shaking with the effort of holding myself up with one arm. 

Thankfully, my frantic kicking keeps her from catching me, and I’m able to back up until I land on the other side of the door, small hands on my shoulders to help me to my feet. 

Although it’s sudden and intense, the wave of pain that hits me as soon as I’m out of the tunnel is overshadowed by anxiety; I don’t have a way to seal the door shut behind us so that she can’t follow. 

Luckily for us, however, I don’t see Esther pursuing through the tunnel. 

After a moment of dead silence, I hear her heels clack on the floor on her end as she steps back. 

Her voice is strained, desperate. “You’ll both pay for this, Mel— you _can’t_ stay away forever!” 

She barks out a deranged laugh. 

“You’ll die if you give birth in—“

I don’t hear what she says as Coraline slams the second door shut with a bang. 

Neither of us say anything for a moment, breathing heavily. I shut my eyes as the aftershocks of a cramp course through me. 

When I look at Coraline, she’s staring blankly at the door, face completely devoid of expression. 

“Coraline?” 

“We need to block it”, she murmurs, shaking her head slightly as if to clear it of thoughts. She gets behind the nearby armchair and begins pushing it towards the door, panting. 

I stand up to help, but she shakes her head. “I got it.” 

Coraline eventually moves the massive chair in front of the door, flopping down in it as soon as it stops moving and resuming her blank stare. 

“Coraline...”, I trail off. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. 

“Wybie’s still in there”, she says. “I’ve gotta help him.” 

I frown. “It’s too dangerous. At least let me come with.” 

“You’re... you have the flu. I’ll call Dad. He’ll know what to do. He always did.” 

Once again, I’m at a loss for words, but Coraline doesn’t exactly seem in a very talkative mood. 

“Well, I suppose your Dad could be of help, but I think we should call the police about this. It’s a kidnapping, isn’t it?”, I suggest, avoiding her gaze. 

She shrugs. “You could try, but I doubt it’d work. The other mother— that _demonic witch_— she’ll just close up the doorway if anyone else looks in. She won’t let anyone she doesn’t want there inside.” 

“Okay”, I sigh, not sure if I’m talking to her or myself. “I’ll call Charlie.”


	12. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again. Quarantine is doing things to my head, I swear to god. You’d think I’d have more time to write, but my sleep schedule is so wack at this point that I’m starting to lose all concept of time (in a GOOD WAY). 
> 
> <3

Exhaustion crushes me like a landslide the moment I stand up. 

I suddenly feel every single bruise and puncture wound, dull stinging pain beginning to make itself apparent as I struggle not to sway. 

With a shuddering breath, not taking my eyes off of the door for even a moment, I sink into the couch, wincing. 

Coraline’s tentative voice startles me. “Mom?” 

“Just give me a minute.” 

The pain and tiredness threaten to overwhelm me; I know that I won’t have the will to get up if I wait any longer. 

And yet... I don’t _want_ to get up and face reality. 

I don’t want to face Esther or her gruesome insect minions. I don’t want to worry about Coraline’s safety— hell, _my_ safety. We’ve been uprooted too many times to move houses and do it all again. 

Plus, we’re just short of being broke, so it isn’t really an option if I want Coraline to be able to attend school and live comfortably. 

Unfortunately, though, this— this situation isn’t exactly comfortable. 

How will Charlie and Coraline handle this while abortion process— will I be forced to tell a lie to anyone else? Will I be forced to relive the truth, when Coraline inevitably asks me what happened, or will I have to lie to her too? 

Jesus. She’s 11. I can’t tell her. 

Not yet. 

Then, there are other, equally pressing worries— will this pregnancy have adverse side effects for any reason? I don’t even know what sort of creature Esther is. Maybe it’ll do something awful to me. 

Maybe it’ll kill me. 

And how am I supposed to have any assurance that Esther won’t crawl out of that door one night while we’re sleeping? 

What if she hurts Coraline? I wouldn’t be able to stop her, not if we’re both staying here. 

My breathing eases a bit as the pain dulls, and I sigh. I’ve got to make that phone call. 

But will Charlie actually be willing to fly out here to us, in the midst of his own life, and help me? Would he even believe me?

Of course, even if he does come, I can’t tell him what really happened. Not right now. Maybe not ever. It’s too outlandish, too much to be able to reasonably believe, even coming from me. He’d think we’d both lost our heads. I’ll have to get him to believe that it’s a problem worth his help— some half-truth that he’ll accept without a shred of doubt. 

Something _plausible_. 

I get up from the couch, to my (and probably my daughter’s) own relief, pretending that it doesn’t hurt more with each step, pretending I don’t recognize this pain from before, when I’d tried to follow the cat. 

Pretending I don’t know my time here isn’t running out. 

The house phone on the wall looks dreamlike as I step into the hallway and reach for it, mindlessly dialing Charlie’s number. 

Something is telling me that this won’t be a normal pregnancy. If I don’t find a way to get this thing out of me, I’ll either die, or... or I’ll have to go back. 

The very thought of returning to that place makes me nauseous, so I focus on the ringing of the phone against my ear. 

“Pick up”, I murmur, twisting the cord around my good hand. 

The ringing stops. 

“Mel?” 

I crack a tired smile at my former husband’s voice. “Hey, Charlie.” 

There’s a surprised laugh from the other end, as if he hadn’t expected it to be me after all. 

“Well, hey! I was just talking about you, my coworkers were asking about your blog.” He pauses. “What’s up?” 

I so badly want to talk about Coraline, how she’s faring lately. Knowing Charlie, he’d be delighted to know that his daughter is finally not hating school, finally settling in. He’d want to hear all about her field trip. 

But I sigh as I gather my thoughts, and I can tell, even through the phone, that Charlie’s frowning, from the way he clears his throat and eases his breathing, as he often used to do when he knew I was upset. 

“I called because...”, I trail off, spotting Coraline listening in the hallway. “Um.” 

“Are you doing alright?”, Charlie asks softly. 

There’s nothing but gentleness in his tone, and it’s so comforting in the moment, so grounding, that I nearly break into tears. We may not have been a stellar couple, but we’re damn good friends. I’m grateful we ended things peacefully. 

“I really need your help”, I blurt, meeting my daughter’s eyes uneasily. 

Coraline looks like she doesn’t know what to do. Probably because she doesn’t. 

Guess that makes two of us. 

She smiles awkwardly and turns towards the stairs, unconsciously walking on her tiptoes; one of my favorite silly habits of hers. 

Charlie’s worried voice cuts in and wakes me up.  
“Help with what? What’s going on...?” 

I breathe. “A lot. It’s... a sensitive subject.” 

“Does Coraline know?” 

“Sort of. I didn’t tell her directly, but... yeah.” 

Charlie’s quiet again for a few beats, and my anxiety grows with each passing second, despite his normally contagiously calm demeanor. 

How the hell am I supposed to break the news to him? He may be my friend, but he’s a guy. Guys don’t usually know how to... _address_ this sort of thing, in my experience. No offense to them.

And that isn’t Charlie’s fault, not really, but it doesn’t help my nerves. 

Please, I beg silently, _please_ be the rock I need right now. 

I don’t know what I’ll do if this scares him off. 

Finally, he speaks. 

“Okay, can you tell me what happened?”

Oh god. 

“I was... attacked.” 

There’s a gasp. “_What?!_ Was there a break in? Are you—“ 

“Not exactly, Charlie. Let me tell you, okay?”

Carefully, I explain the closest thing to the truth that I possibly can to him— I tell him that I wandered too far away from the house. 

I tell him it was dark. 

When I can’t put it off any longer, I tell him I was assaulted. 

I tell him I’m pregnant. 

I know he’s still there, though, from the gentle sound of his breathing on the other end. He listens. And when I’m done, I have to lean against the wall, partially because I’m shaking and partially because I’m in a great deal of pain. 

“Mel?”, Charlie pipes up, voice broken as my back hits the wall, and I shake my head, although I know he can’t see me. 

“I’m fine, it just hurts.” 

“Like... like how it was with Coraline?” 

“Sort of? It’s been over a decade, Charlie, it’s hard to tell...” 

There’s a sigh. “Well, I hope it’s nothing new.” He pauses. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry that happened to you. Are you safe from him? How far did you say you were from home? If he’s still around—“ 

“_Charlie_.”

I eventually manage to convince my ex-husband that there isn’t a threat any longer, but it takes a long time, a semi-calm tone on my part, and a lot of carefully thought-out lies. 

As far as he knows, I was assaulted by a stranger in the woods somewhat far from here, escaped otherwise unscathed, and went directly to the police. The suspect, I tell him, was already apprehended and taken into custody. 

The story feels too clean to me, too easily solved, but he seems to buy it. 

It’s a good thing I used to edit Charlie’s work when we still lived in Michigan, because if he were as good of a storyteller as I was, I’m not so sure he would’ve believed what I was telling him. 

Not even with the alternate dimension and its malicious inhabitant omitted. 

He assures me he’s flying over first thing tomorrow to help me through getting the abortion, and that he’ll stay as long as I need him to, if I want the company. 

I say okay, despite the fact that it’s technically putting him in danger. Supernaturally powerful or not, it’s going to be a hefty task for Esther to come after us, and I’m not even sure if she physically can. 

Besides, I _really_ need a friend right now. If that’s selfishness, then sue me. 

Coraline pleasantly surprises me with dinner after I wake up from a much-needed nap. Charlie had taught her a few of his (rare) simpler, more normal recipes over the years, and in spite of his tendency to go overboard with complexity, he did, thankfully, know a _few_ things about decent culinary practice. 

I take a pill for my pain after that and head upstairs, trying not to think about the last time I remember climbing them. 

Well, not _quite_ the same stairs, I remind myself. But they do feel the same. 

My room is drafty when I come in, but somehow it looks the coziest it ever has in all the time we’ve lived here, and I don’t even have the energy to take off my clothes before I collapse onto the mattress. 

It’s funny, I’d only started sleeping upstairs the week before I was abducted, because I hadn’t wanted to be in the master bedroom. It had reminded me too much of sleeping with Charlie. 

Mostly because he snored. 

But also because I’d wanted to feel independent again.

Despite myself, I don’t think I’d mind having him around right now. 

The morning is grey, as usual, and it’s raining, which I ironically had begun to miss after so many days of a fake sky and fake stars.

Stretching, I grimace as the cumulative soreness makes itself known in my overtired muscles. I really need to take a shower. 

The upstairs bathroom is frigid when I shuffle my way in, already shivering under my sweater. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a shower to myself— where I’m not afraid of someone lurking just past the curtain. 

Like I’m about to take any other shower, I push back the curtain and turn on the water, as it usually takes a little while to warm up. There’s a few folded towels in the cabinet beneath the sink that I choose a fluffy green one from, draping it over the towel rack. 

Then, as my hands find themselves gripping the lower hem of my sweater, I remember that it isn’t mine. 

Cold fear makes each of my nerves turn icy as I palm the fabric, nothing like what I’d have in my closet: Silky. Stretchable. Impossibly soft. 

Hand-crafted to fit me perfectly. 

It feels like she’s still here. 

It’s almost manic, the speed and force of which I tear the thing off of me, staggering backwards into the wall in my frenzy to get free. My breathing is shallow as it catches on its way over my head, finally coming off of my body. I don’t hesitate to unfasten and wriggle out of the velvety jeans and brand-new looking sneakers I’m wearing, either. 

For a moment, I stare at the pile of clothes on the bathroom floor, panting. 

The sound of running water in the back of my mind reminds me that I’m wasting it, so I blink, shaking my head, and turn to go test it...

...Right past the mirror. 

Jesus _Christ_, I look terrible. 

I scan over my own reflection, unease growing with each new visible bruise and scratch, breath hitching at the punctures and cuts on my chest and hips. 

She _marked_ me. 

I start to cry, clamping a shaky hand over my mouth, as I turn in the mirror. 

She’s everywhere. All over me. My neck, my torso, my arms, my legs. The dark purple spot on my lip is particularly jarring. 

And that’s not even counting the thing she’s planted in me, evident only by the slightest new roundness in my middle. 

I have to close my eyes at that notion, leaning forward on the counter and gritting my teeth through another wave of pain. 

A knock at the door makes me yelp in surprise. 

“Hey, Mom? I made breakfast for whenever you get out”, Coraline says through the door. “The eggs are sorta burned, but I had some, so, uh... they’re not the worst.” She sounds sheepish. 

It takes everything I have to snap out of it and reply to her. 

“Thanks, honey. I’m sure they’re perfectly good.” 

I avoid looking at my reflection again. 

I don’t look down at my body when I step into the water at last, making myself read over the labels of my hair products to occupy my frantic brain. 

The warmth on my back is immediately soothing, however, a feeling I’d sorely missed. 

I’d been so damn _cold_ for so long. 

As I rinse the grime off of my skin, I can’t help but worry about Charlie’s arrival. 

Will he be content to simply see me through the procedure, or will he press, demand to know more? I don’t know if I can keep up the lie if he asks any more questions. 

No... no, he won’t ask. Charlie’s never been the skeptical type.

At least, not since I’ve known him. 

Not knowing quite what to do with my former, tailored outfit, I leave it in the bathroom when I’m done. 

My own closet’s familiar dusty smell is almost pleasant to me when I open it; it’s a bit like how the wall-tunnels were when I was navigating them with that overgrown centipede. 

It’s weird to think that the last time I was here, I was sorting casually through my tops and worrying about Coraline’s field trip. 

If only _that_ had been the worst thing to worry about in the end. 

Since Charlie hadn’t specified what time he’d be arriving, I decide to get dressed now. 

I pull on a plush grey sweater and some relatively comfortable, loose blue jeans, whining like a kicked puppy with every movement, the pain flaring up again. 

“Mom, the eggs are gonna get cold—“, comes my daughter’s voice again from the hall, trailing off as she stops in my doorway. 

“Uh, you look kinda pale.” 

“Thanks, Coraline”, I reply curtly, embarrassed. “I’m coming, okay?” 

Coraline frowns, opening and closing her mouth, as if she’d wanted to bite back and had thought better of it. 

The pang of guilt that hits me doesn’t do much to ease my constant nausea, and I mimic her expression, sighing. 

“Sorry. I’m fine, really.” 

She nods, hands swinging awkwardly at her sides. “I’ll be in the kitchen, then.” 

Although they are overdone, the eggs aren’t terrible, although I honestly would’ve appreciated a piece of stale bread at this point. 

We don’t talk while we eat, like we usually do, mostly because I’m tired— but I get the feeling Coraline doesn’t want to right now. With everything that’s happened recently, I don’t blame her. 

I have a second helping when I finish the first, to Coraline’s astonishment; what I don’t mention is that I’m only still hungry because of the... well. 

Because I’m pregnant. 

Speaking of, eating does seem to quell the pain, if only slightly. 

Brain too scrambled to even attempt to work, I head to the family room and slump down on the couch. 

I don’t register that I’m falling asleep until my mind turns entirely into fog. Unlike last night, where I’d been knocked out by overexertion, I don’t slip easily into unconsciousness. 

Instead, the sensation of falling seizes me in a death grip. 

Half-awake, panicking, I feel myself try to flail about. It’s like there are cold hands holding me down, digging sharp claws into my battered body...

I’m up with a gasp at the sound of the doorbell. 

Still buzzing with fear, I check my mobile phone. It’s noon— it’s been a couple of hours already. 

Coraline beats me to the door, shooting me a passing glance from the hallway as I watch from the couch, struggling to calm down enough to catch my breath. 

“Hey, there’s my girl”, comes Charlie’s easy tone, and I hear my daughter giggling as they embrace. 

Charlie looks around a moment before spotting me to his right. 

I give him a wave. “Hi, Charlie.” 

He smiles. “Hey.” 

Turning to Coraline, he gestures to the stairs. “Coraline, why don’t you go and tidy your room so you can show me how it looks? I’ve got to talk with your mom a minute.” 

Coraline shrugs. “Hey, I can take a hint. But you’re not being subtle about wanting me to do a chore, Dad.” 

Charlie sets the worn black suitcase he’d been dragging behind him against the wall and enters the family room, hands in his pockets. 

He looks conflicted. I can’t tell if that’s pity or grief in his eyes. 

I’m guessing it’s both. 

“Hey”, he says again, taking a seat across from me in one of the armchairs. “You sleep okay?” 

I smile half-heartedly. “Yeah.” 

I don’t know what else to say. 

I feel like I’m making things awkward, my gaze drifting into space as I talk, but I can’t find the energy to ask him how he’s doing, how things have been since the divorce. I wonder if that makes me selfish. 

I’m brought out of my thoughts by Charlie clearing his throat. 

I look up. “Hm?” 

“Er... I asked if you’d already scheduled a doctor’s visit.” 

Doctor? I’m _pregnant_, not a car crash victim. What else does he think is there to investigate? I just want this to be over with. 

Charlie appears to read my thoughts through my expressions, and I’m painfully reminded yet again of how much I tend to show it when I’m upset. 

“Mel, I just meant that you should get your injuries looked at. What if there’s internal damage?” 

I can tell that he’s trying not to screw up his face in discomfort at that last part, and I nearly laugh. He’s always been squeamish about injuries, surgeries, anything like that. I guess he braved thinking about it for once. 

I shake my head. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m... not thinking straight today.” 

“And that’s perfectly fine, Mel. You’ve been through serious trauma, here”, says Charlie, his expression soft. “You’ll get through this.” 

He leans forward to stand, offering his hand for me to take. 

“I’m gonna unpack in the guest room, if that’s okay. You should go and lay down, really...”

•••

The next morning, I wake up before the sun does. 

Which never happens. 

But since there’s no way I can get back to sleep now, what with the wave of queasiness that hits me the instant I open my eyes, I drag myself into a sitting position and prepare to make a run for the bathroom. 

Thankfully, however, it passes a few minutes later without incident, the sick feeling replaced with that familiar ebbing pain. Not exactly an improvement. 

Obviously, I know I’m the only one awake at this hour. Charlie’s never been a morning person, and neither have I, for that matter, but I didn’t get much of a choice this time. 

And as for Coraline? It’s Saturday. She’s gonna be out until at least noon.

I get to my feet, trying to breathe slowly, when there’s a horrid scratching at the window. I nearly trip and fall. 

“...Dammit, cat.”

He’s perched right outside of my windowsill. How he even got there, I have no clue. 

Begrudgingly, I push it open and let him in, noticing a little too late that he’s got some stuff on his face, ash or dust— probably rolled around in a pile of goddamned rubble somewhere.

After closing it, ignoring the cat’s coarse fur against my legs, I trudge out into the hall, leaning heavily on the railing when I get to the stairs. 

The fridge downstairs is empty, save for some condiments, a moldy loaf of bread, and a few brown paper bags, which I know for a fact I didn’t put there. 

Oh well. I can’t be picky here. 

As it turns out, the bags are fast food meals. 

Charlie must have picked them up on the way. I legitimately almost tear up— I haven’t seen a shitty burger in so long, and after countless time on a diet of soups and stews, this practically looks like prime rib. I hover at the microwave for a minute and proceed to decimate the contents of one of the bags. 

...And immediately get nauseous. Again. 

Half an hour and an unpleasant experience at the toilet bowl later, I elect to thaw some extra soup I’d frozen for later. That’s sure to be easier to digest. 

Or at least less greasy. 

“Hi”, comes Charlie’s voice from somewhere behind me, sounding midway through a yawn. “Up already?” 

Surprised, I turn, setting my food on the table. “You too?” 

He shrugs. “I set an alarm, I was gonna go out and buy some eggs and stuff, I figured fast food probably wasn’t such a great idea for you.” 

“Oh, that’s sweet of you. I can come with after I’m done—“ 

He holds up a hand. “No way. You’ve got to rest. Take it easy. I know Coraline would agree.” 

Honestly, I’d mostly offered to go because I don’t want to think about myself right now— what’s happening in my body. What I’ve been through. Also, I said it because I don’t want Charlie to think I’m taking advantage of his kindness. 

...Yeesh. What am I saying? He’s not stupid. He wouldn’t think that. Calm down. That’s just the nerves talking. 

I nod, sitting back in my chair. “Yeah. You’re right.” 

Charlie visibly relaxes so obviously that it’s funny: his posture falls from rigid into his usual relaxed slouch. That had used to bother me to no end, but he’d never complained of pain, so it wasn’t really ever a problem. 

He twirls his rental car keys and exhales. “Okay, well, be back in a bit.” 

I make a face. “_Now?_ But you just got up! Aren’t you gonna eat something?” 

“Don’t worry about it, I’m picking up a breakfast sandwich on the way. See you!”, he chirps, shuffling out the door in sandals clearly too small for his feet. 

I smile. His dorky demeanor reminds me of why I’m still friends with him. 

Minutes tick by at the kitchen table, and I try to focus on the clouds outside, occasional sky peeking out as the sun rises. 

The cat jumps up onto one of the other chairs without a sound, blue eyes gleaming in the warm dawn light. I glance thoughtfully at him before letting my gaze fall back to the window. 

Colors and textures seem especially vibrant today, the lighting of the house somehow more organic than usual— is that just because I’ve been gone? 

Is it always gonna be like this for me, or will things go back to normal? 

What even _is_ normal? 

At least I can look at the real world again. 

Real sunlight is so wonderfully warm. 

I yelp, a while later, when the doorknob suddenly turns, door swinging open— and then relax when I see Charlie again, somehow holding seven bags of groceries, which he sets down as he closes the door behind him. 

Glancing at the microwave clock, my eyebrows raise. It’s been an hour already? 

I look back at Charlie. “How did you open the door...?”

“Determination. Anyway, I got eggs!” 

“...Ah. Thanks”, I smile. He’s got absolutely no limit to how far he’ll go to not make a second trip. 

Since I’ve already eaten, I manage to convince him to let me help unpack and put away the groceries, which helps me take the focus away from the abdominal pain that comes and goes. It’s surprisingly effective, and I get the chance to ask Charlie about his new apartment and roommate, how his new job is. 

I’d actually helped him apply to a few places when he’d called me about it awhile back. He’d been looking at a few different options for a job, some of which I understood (journalism, botany, working with animals), and some of which I didn’t (Barista? Mailman? _Construction worker?!_).

In the end, Charlie had gotten a job as an editor for a big time newspaper in his city, which I wouldn’t have expected to get if I had applied. We were both happy about it, and it boosted his paycheck, which meant that he didn’t need to worry about scraping up child support funds or paying rent. 

Plus, now, he’s my grocery boy. Win-win. 

The rest of the day is actually somewhat pleasant, aside from the bouts of pain and nausea. Coraline finishes her weekend assignments all in the same afternoon, and Charlie makes an appointment at the local urgent care center to have me checked out. 

I’m still extremely nervous about the doctor. I’ve got bruises and cuts, I’ve obviously been kicked around a fair bit. 

Wait, will they assume that _Charlie_ hit me? God, I hope not. I’m going to stick with the ‘psycho in the woods’ story and hope that they don’t pester me too much about it— we can’t control much about what happens after. 

Only time will tell how this will play out. 

•••

The day of the appointment, a Tuesday morning, I wait for Charlie to return— he’d left a little while ago to drop Coraline off at school, and he was going to take me to urgent care straight after, as we’d discussed. 

My heart, despite my best efforts to be calm, refuses to slow its rhythm. My hands shake as I rub them together; it’s chilly this morning, and my two jackets aren’t helping at all. 

I hope he gets here quickly. 

Well— not _really_. 

Some part of me is dreading his return, and not because of Charlie or anything he’s done. 

I just have a bad feeling about leaving. Hell, I haven’t stepped outside of the house since I got trapped in that awful copy-dimension. One would think I’d be jumping at the opportunity to leave the Palace. 

But, the thing is... I don’t want to leave at all.

I want to go back. Back to that place. 

Back to _her_, maybe. 

I don’t know if it’s because I was lonely— because I needed someone to control me when I felt incapable of controlling my own life. 

For so long, I’ve been terrified of being on my own; now that I’ve got a daughter, and I’ve legally parted ways with my husband, it’s like I’m finally responsible for my own life— and I can’t handle it. 

Charlie bursts in the door before I can spiral any further into madness. 

“Sorry I took so long”, he pants. “Traffic and a random rainstorm.” 

Glancing outside, I notice the pouring rain for the first time. “Oh. Yeah.” 

My stomach lurches as I think about standing up and leaving. 

“Well? You ready?”, Charlie asks. He’s clearly still eager to be of help. I can’t not appreciate that. 

But at the same time... 

“Charlie”, I begin, “I’m not sure I can go.” 

Charlie looks perplexed. “Wouldn’t it be the best way to make sure you’re alright?”, he says softly, no trace of impatience in his voice. 

Oh, he’s right. Completely right, really.

“I— I don’t want to leave the house.” 

“Mel?” 

“I can’t tell you why. You wouldn’t understand.” 

And he would never have to. There’s no way I’d ever come clean about where I’ve been and what I’ve been through, not even to my close friend. It would be too much for anyone to handle, and I was foolish to think that he could somehow get me out of this— 

“Mel, of course I understand. You’re scared. This is your home, a safe place. It makes sense to want to stay!” 

That isn’t it at all, I want to scream at him, but then his watch’s alarm goes off, and I snap out of my stupor. 

Ugh. What am I thinking? I’ve got to go through with this!

Standing up without a word, I grab my purse and stop right next to Charlie, quietly waiting for him to push the door the rest of the way open. 

His confusion’s clearly doubled. “But— you said...”

“Never mind, Charlie, you’re right. I do need to get checked out.” 

So I politely slip under his outstretched arm against the door and walk out onto the porch. 

The dizziness begins the moment I cross the threshold. I ignore it. 

A click behind me announces that Charlie’s followed me and locked the door behind us. 

The front steps, seeming to stretch out in front of me, are blurry in my vision as I move unconsciously toward them. I take a step down. 

_Zing!_

A bolt of agony shoots up my spine. 

I grit my teeth and take another. Circles start to form, dark blurry spots, and though every fibre of my being tells me to go back inside and rest, heal, I’m stubborn; I don’t want to accept what’s happening. 

I barely register Charlie’s casual canter down the stairs next to me as I step down again. 

A stinging, blossoming tree of sensation grips its way through my nervous system and I feel like I’m going to be sick. 

Now, at last, it’s been a bit longer than one would usually take to get down a small flight of stairs, and Charlie stops to look back at me. I only vaguely see him saying something, but his words don’t reach my ears. 

A sickening rush of motion. A _whump_ as my body hits something. 

Blackness, panic, as I feel myself losing consciousness.


	13. Fester

Grainy, is how I would describe this. My eyes are still adjusting to the light, but everything’s starting to come into focus. I first spot Charlie, hunched into an armchair. Coraline is next to me on the couch, much tinier arms wrapped around my left one. 

As soon as I stir, Charlie’s eyes flutter open. He looks panicked. 

“Oh, thank Christ. Are you okay?” 

I laugh weakly. “Other than the usual? Yeah.” 

Charlie nods, wringing his hands. “Good. Good.” His eyes dart to Coraline, who’s been silently listening the whole time. “Uh, I wanted to take you to urgent care, but she said something about it being ‘worse’ for you, so I didn’t want to risk it.” 

His frown indicates that he’s doubting his decision, but I give him a small smile, relieved, and nod. It seems I’m safe... for now. 

The rest of the afternoon and evening, Charlie and Coraline scarcely leave my company in the upstairs bedroom I’d been sleeping in prior to Charlie’s arrival. Their nervous vigilance, though well-intentioned, only serves to put me on edge, and although the pain isn’t as bad as it was on the front porch, it isn’t exactly letting up, either. Every few minutes, I have to brace myself for another wave of discomfort, avoiding the gazes of my daughter and ex-husband. 

If I’d actually been assaulted in the forest, like how I’d told Charlie— a random encounter— I wouldn’t be this goddamn terrified. That would have at least been predictable. 

But not worse. 

With this, I can’t even be honest with anyone. It’s too much to handle for an eleven-year-old, even if she knows of Esther’s existence, and it would be totally incomprehensible to Charlie. Where would I even begin trying to tell him? 

By that logic, I’m alone in this. I don’t know what I’m dealing with, and I haven’t escaped that awful place, not really. I can’t stray too far from the house, or... well. 

I’m not going to risk finding out what would happen, though I suspect it’s nothing good. 

After some time, it gets dark out. Coraline insists she can stay up, only to fall asleep in her chair ten minutes later, so Charlie sighs, gently lifting her into his arms, and leaves me by myself for the first time since getting here. 

All at once, every muscle in my body tenses. Frightened, I don’t move, expecting a full contraction, but nothing happens. 

There’s only a pull. It’s like the very atmosphere wants me to move, leave the room... 

“Hell no”, I whisper to no one. I’m not about to be lured back to that place in this condition. I don’t want to go there ever again. 

Or, I shouldn’t, at least. 

“Damn it.” 

Some part of me is screaming to lie back down as I manage to sit up in the bed, hand clutched delicately over my abdomen. I don’t listen. 

It’s almost instinctual, how I begin to move, taking awkward, shuffling steps to the open door, pushing it open. I feel like I’m dreaming. 

Why can’t I stop? 

The upstairs hallway, now that the sun has passed and begun to set, is shrouded in darkness, the fading orange light from the windows casting elongated shadows across the floor as I ghost over on my way to the stairs. 

Why can’t I _speak?_

Charlie hasn’t left Coraline’s bedroom yet, and I don’t hear anything coming from there; he must still be tucking her in. Please see me, I beg silently, throwing a desperate look towards my daughter’s bedroom as my legs begin to carry me down the stairs. He doesn’t appear in the doorway. My head dips below the floor, and my heart sinks. I can only hope he’ll hear me. 

Numbly, in my mind, I realize that this isn’t entirely involuntary, and I hate myself for it. Aside from the intense, invisible thing pulling me towards the downstairs sitting room, pulling me to that door, I know I’m not fighting as hard as I could be. As I should be. 

What’s wrong with me? 

I want to close my eyes and shut it out as I round the corner, ducking into the dreaded room, but my eyes refuse to shut, except to blink. It’s like I’m on autopilot. My hand shakes as it reaches into my back pocket, producing what I can feel is the old black key, metal cool as it presses against my palm. 

Don’t do this, I beg myself. I have to fight this. 

But even as I say the words in my head, the key is turning in the lock, furniture already somehow pushed aside to expose the tiny door in the wall. I hold my breath as wood creaks, a faint spark of hope igniting in me as the sound grows louder. Charlie might hear me, after all... 

Then, I’m yanked invisibly down to the floor, gravity doubling momentarily as I land on my hands and knees, panting. I need to rest, but I can’t make myself turn back— 

“Fuck!”

The door slams behind me and I blink: I’m already in the tunnel. Definitely not alone in here, either, from the almost nonexistent sound of breathing seeming to come from every direction, a slow, raspy sound that I don’t recognize. It certainly isn’t Esther. 

I scamper through the confined space as fast as I can, cringing silently as I crash through cobwebs and suspicious, dusty debris. I’m aware of the key in my hand again. 

For the second time, a door opens in front of me, and as I drag myself out, I’m positive I hear Charlie’s voice calling my name. 

The second door slams, and the spell breaks: I have control of my limbs again, it would appear, but there’s still a distinct force preventing me from turning around, going back. 

Surprising myself, I laugh suddenly. Of course I’d be forced back here, somehow. 

As long as I can control myself again, I need to get somewhere safe. I sneak through the silent house, ever-wary of movement and sounds, but nothing follows me. I step into the downstairs bedroom, and, after scanning the room, I crawl under the bed, biting my lip in anguish as I have to curl painfully to shimmy underneath. 

God, it’s freezing in here. I don’t know what my plan is at all. Why did I come here? Why? 

Was I really that afraid of an abortion, or was it something more? You’d think I would know, but I don’t. And Esther? She could be anywhere. I’m not even afraid of hearing the floorboards creak— I’m afraid of the eerie silence in place of it. 

Esther never makes any noise. Not a single second’s warning. I don’t expect it to be any different now. 

“Shit!”, I yelp, as something grabs my ankle out of absolutely nowhere. “Wait—_wait_—“

She doesn’t listen to my pleading, continuing to drag me out from under the bed. Adrenaline floods my body, but nothing happens for a few seconds, no kick to the back, no pulling of limbs. I’m shaking like a leaf as I stumble backwards to look up at her. 

Holy fuck. 

Esther’s willowy, elongated form looks different again. She’s still wearing her real face, features sharp and defined, but she’s got more legs than usual. They’re sort of pretty, in a way, although I’d never say so out loud— pale and elegant, like deer’s antlers, curving into sharp points and sporting a texture like polished bone. 

...On the other hand, they’re also fucking terrifying. _She’s_ fucking terrifying. 

“Back so soon?”, she says, sounding somewhere between smug and genuinely curious. As she leers down at me, her legs adjust in place to support her, delicate and dangerous. I almost wonder what they feel like to touch. 

Esther’s taloned hands reach out for me before I can conjure up some bullshit answer, one hand cupping my face while the other settles against the side of my neck, making me seize up in fear. 

Oh god. Why am I here? 

“You’re nearly ready, darling, need I remind you”, she purrs, clearly unbothered my my silence. “I’m so glad you’ve returned to me.” 

I duck away from her, angry tears welling in my eyes. “I didn’t come here for _you_.” 

She shrugs. “Too bad.” 

In less than a second, Esther’s cold hands are on me, grabbing me easily off of the ground. I scream and lash out, trying to hit her to no avail. Everything’s a blur. 

She steps out of the room, and the house itself is moving, changing, until I feel a rush of air against me and realize that she’s let me go. 

When I hit the floor, it doesn’t hurt, and I realize that she’s dropped me onto the spongy white surface of the room I’d once escaped from. Around me, the air is stale and cold, and the room is darker than I remember, just light enough to see the outlines of silky webbed pillars dotted around the space. 

Before I can look up, Esther yanks me up by the arms. I cry out in pain. “_Stop it!_”

She doesn’t pay me any mind. Expression unreadable in the dimness, she shoves me against one of the pillars, and my clothes stick, to my immediate revulsion. 

In spite of my frantic squirming, Esther begins to wrap more of the stuff around my torso, binding me to the pillar. I try to kick at her, gritting my teeth, but as my legs connect with the hard, porcelain bone of her own, she grabs them, forcing one back against the pillar. Esther works methodically, as if I weren’t screaming this entire time, throwing blind punches her way. 

Eventually, I can’t move my legs at all, but I notice, feeling nauseated, that they aren’t completely covered. 

She’s... going to leave me here to have the baby. 

“No”, I say, plainly, shaking my head, mouth slightly open in shock. “You can’t make me do this here. You can’t be serious.” 

The only sign that she’s heard me is the faint gleam of predatory teeth in the shadows, a smile curling around her lips. I expect her to leave, but she doesn’t even turn around, blank button eyes glinting slightly as she looks down at me. 

Suddenly, the pain in my abdomen doubles— I hadn’t even noticed it was there until just now. I’d been tense and trying to forget it. It’s not so easy now, when I feel like I’m burning.

This definitely isn’t normal. I never felt like this with Coraline. But I don’t ask Esther, because I don’t think that knowing the reasons would help me at all. It’s certainly not going to change the outcome. 

Silently, I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking of Charlie. Has he figured out I’ve gone? Has Coraline told him where to find me? 

God, I hope not. 

It’s... it’s really irrational, but... this whole situation feels too horrible to tell anyone about. It involves another dimension, first of all— a concept that would overwhelm anyone, but it isn’t just that. It’s what I went through while I was here. 

I was _broken_ here. 

Broken in ways that I feel too self-conscious to talk about with my loved ones, ways that have already left their permanent marks on me and that have royally screwed with my head. I was hurt here. Humiliated. Terrified. How am I supposed to handle this? Even in the best case, where I somehow escape, I could never forget this awful place. I could never forget about Esther, no matter how hard I try. I know that. 

And this is nowhere near the best case, anyway. I’m probably either going to die, or be subjected to an existence that isn’t worth living. What will she even do with me after I give birth? 

My face is wet, but I don’t care, nor can I do anything to make it go away, the bones of my wrists already sore in their bonds. I half-heartedly adjust them, avoiding looking at the ever-watching creature in front of me. 

Uncharacteristically, said creature clucks her tongue, stepping forward and adjusting the ties for me, but I jerk away from her. She doesn’t get to play nice all of the sudden. 

Esther either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and goes about fiddling with the other parts of the webbing as well, loosening and tightening them in various places before stepping back, as if admiring her handiwork. She pauses briefly before raising one of her sharp front legs until it’s level with my head. 

Heart jolting, I scrunch my eyes shut on instinct. 

I force them back open after nothing happens. 

She brings the leg down, and though, visually, it looks like she’s slicing right into me, the sharpened point of it only tears through my pajama shirt and bottoms. 

On top of the growing pain in my midsection, a fresh wave of nausea overtakes me, brought on by the familiarity of her actions. I legitimately feel like I’m going to throw up. 

Esther must have noticed my new expression, because she raises an eyebrow at me. “You look unwell.” 

Ironic, coming from the monster that’s already nearly killed me. She made me like this in the first place. I don’t answer her, but I don’t think I could have anyway. 

I gasp as my pain forms into a sharper sensation, my body feeling like it’s about to combust. 

_No no no no no..._

The reality of what’s going on finally sinks in and I have to actively force myself to stay awake. I can’t pass out during this. I _can’t_. 

To my revulsion, Esther reaches out and slides a skeletal hand down my face, gracile form inching slightly closer without a sound on the spongy-soft floor. I chew on my lip and focus on my breathing. 

The pain comes and goes again, but it’s slightly worse this time, and I have to gasp pitifully for air, whining quietly through clenched teeth. I have hardly a minute to recover before it returns, worse again, and I can’t help but yelp in pain. My mind shuts itself off, coherent thoughts ending abruptly as agony begins to fill my senses. 

I try to turn it back on to drown it out, distract myself, but it won’t work... so instead, I do something that makes me feel rotten: I close my eyes and focus on the cool hands on my skin. I allow myself to get lost in the sensation of the creature’s touch, if only for a moment, if only for survival. 

Immediately, I feel like I can breathe again, even though I’m still incredibly tense. Esther isn’t scratching me, or gripping my sides too tightly. For once, she’s gentle, and for once, I actually _appreciate_ her seemingly natural coldness, a stark contrast to the unbearable molten fire eating me from the inside out as I convulse again and again on the pillar, venting my suffering through shrill cries... 

At last, I stiffen, nerves and muscles burning, and the flame engulfs me. My vision goes black and I slump limply against the pillar. 

It feels like an eternity before I open my eyes. 

_Why didn’t I hear it crying?_

Ahead of me, the room is empty again, no sign that Esther or the infant had ever been there. Had it been stillborn? Why didn’t she say so, then? 

The tears on my face grow cold as a draft of stale air ghosts past me. I shiver. 

I’m... actually crushed. But why? What reason do I have?

It’s over. I’m done. Right? Why the hell do I feel like I’ve _lost_ something? 

When I open my mouth to call out— for help, water, to be let down, for anyone at all— I start to cough. The sensation burns my throat and nose with its intensity, but I’m so tired that I can’t be bothered to suppress them. I’m vaguely aware of bile rising in my throat, sickness overtaking me as I hack up my lungs. Please let this end... 

Out of nowhere, there’s a huge rush of air, and something’s torn me off of the surface of the pillar. The cool atmosphere wakes me up for an instant and I catch myself with my arms as I land, scrambling to pull my shirt closed with one hand and curling into a ball on the ground. 

Something clicks above me, a rattling sort of sound, alien yet familiar. 

I glance up to see glossy maroon. 

It’s the centipede. 

Its head is raised high above where I’m laying, and its long feelers sample the air around me, not quite touching me. 

“Hi, buddy”, I croak, sighing tiredly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t get up. I’m too drained.” 

Clicking its pincers again, the massive thing snakes its head around to my left, and the prick of each one of its legs makes the ground buzz as the segmented body surrounds me in a perfect circle. The buzzing grows as the centipede’s numerous plates of armor start moving, looking like crisp autumn leaves in the breeze. The air around me suddenly becomes warm, almost electric. Comforting. A subtle blueish glow emanates from tiny crescent markings on the animal’s sides, and I smile at that, nausea beginning to fade.

I don’t remember the moment when I drift to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •••
> 
> Fun fact, Mel’s giant bug friend is a lunar centipede, a mostly peaceful creature that typically lives thousands of years. This one’s name is Indigo. :)


	14. Freedom

The pain in his eye was nigh-unbearable. 

Trotting over stones, tree branches, and discarded junk, the skinny creature scanned the area with his remaining good eye, hot tears welling up as wind whipped his battered, starved face. Most of the cat’s whiskers were broken or missing now, and he bore several odd white markings where the fur had once been black, along with several ugly new scars along his body. 

But he wasn’t down just yet. Panting now, exhausted and frail, the cat finally broke from the treeline, bursting out onto a familiar muddy hill and skidding to a shaky halt. The stop nearly made him fall over. 

Overhead, a murder of crows were perched in various places atop the branches of a dying tree, watching him intently. He imagined they were hungry, but they made no move to descend upon him, simply blinking at him in their ominous silence. Perhaps they were afraid of something; crows nearly always knew when things were amiss. 

In the distance, the cat fixed his gaze on the looming outline of the Pink Palace, got to his feet, and began to pick up speed again, having rested enough for the time being to carry him down the dull, treacherous terrain. 

When he reached the house, there was a new car in the ‘driveway’. It was oddly comforting. Perhaps Ms. Jones had managed to resolve her issue on her own? 

No, he realized, broken whiskers twitching: the openings were still there. He sensed them— the ways in and out of the other world. Therefore, it had to still be there. Awake. 

Inhabited. 

So who had come to visit, then? Did they know of what horrors the Joneses were trying to overcome? 

The cat easily worked his way into the house, having done so more times than he could count. 

Inside, it was quiet, and no lights were on. 

This didn’t put him at ease. It was midday. Surely someone would be moving about? 

Upon investigation, the cat discovered that he was not entirely alone, as he had feared. Coraline was soundly asleep in her bedroom, soft breaths making her chest rise and fall in the natural, funny way that human beings slumbered. If the cat could have, he would have smiled. 

Downstairs, a middle-aged, weary looking man the cat had never seen before was fast asleep in an armchair, snoring lightly. The feline trod past him on silent feet, minding the worn sneakers the man had left haphazardly strewn across the floor. He must have been anxious to take a nap. 

Now, to find Melissa. The cat couldn’t smell her in the room or nearby, and he hadn’t caught any trace upstairs, but then again, he hadn’t expected her to be there. Was she sleeping too? Huh. And humans said cats were the ones who slept all day. 

The cat’s bones aches as he clambered up the stairs again, and he was reminded of how long he’d had them. He knew he wouldn’t have them forever. Eventually, the very soul he walked on would encompass his body in a cool embrace, and his life-force would seep out into the ground below. With luck, he would feel the warmth of the sun when new sprouts came through the soft earth, and then he would finally know what it was like to live off of nothing but sunlight and water. 

He had never feared his own final passing, but he had always been careful to use his feline birthright wisely. He had grown accustomed to dying, though, and he had a feeling it would not be quite the same on his last go of it. 

The house remained in silence as he reached the door to Melissa’s bedroom, which was, thankfully, slightly ajar. Pushing it open with his scarred muzzle, the cat entered the room, tensed his haunches, and leapt up onto the tall bed. 

She wasn’t there. 

His eyes widened in surprise. Surely... surely she could not already have been taken. Not again. It was far too soon— and with two others here with her? That malicious creature wouldn’t be able to hide in their collective presence. Absolutely not. 

But deep down, in his heart, the feline knew he wouldn’t find her anywhere else in this house. 

Not even in this world. 

•••

Momentarily, it feels like I’ve been knocked particularly hard in the head. My ears are ringing incessantly to the point of near-nausea. As if I haven’t had enough of that already. 

Wait. 

When my eyes shoot open, I’m alone. At first, I can’t see a thing in whatever place I’ve woken up in, but I know something is different from the very air itself. 

Instead of the cramped, humid atmosphere of the webbed chamber, I feel a cool dryness ghosting over my skin, smelling like newly grown greenery and pine needles. Briefly, I wonder if I’m finally dead, but the sensation of pricking at my feet tells a different story. 

What the hell happened? 

My eyes adjust and I realize that I’m leaning against something solid— it’s a tree trunk. 

...A tree trunk? 

There’s no way I’m awake. Right? Unless Esther just spontaneously decided to dump me in the woods by my house, which sounds a bit nonsensical, even for her. So where the hell did I end up in? Her secret greenhouse? 

With a pang, I remember having seen the massive centipede before I closed my eyes, the red creature decorated with luminescent blue crescents. I wish it would stick around for once, but hey, I wouldn’t want to risk being caught by Esther either. Although— how would that interaction even go? Esther is tall and scary, and all, but against a giant centipede?

Anyway. I’ve got to get somewhere that isn’t so open, although it would be nice if I had any way of knowing how to navigate the place in the slightest. 

To my surprise, as I trudge tiredly through tunnels of ivy-like vines and creeping roots, there is an air of freshness, like spring’s just arrived. Had this all happened while I was asleep, or had I been taken somewhere new entirely? It’s impossible to know for sure. Another thing I notice, which is not so much pleasant as it is confusing, is the buzz of life in the air. It’s almost electric; it’s invigorating enough to help ease my body’s aches and the burning in my lungs, but it heightens my anxiety tenfold. It’s as if I’m in far more danger than I already was— somehow. I can’t quite explain it. 

There’s a blurry shape relatively close to me as I crest over a smallish ‘hill’. It looks like a door, but there isn’t a wall surrounding it. Nowhere else to go, I approach it, praying that it won’t lead me anywhere terrible. 

It opens on its own when I touch it. 

It’s... it’s the tunnel. The exit tunnel. My jaw drops. How is it here? Why is it here? 

Unless it’s some trick. Maybe this is too easy. Maybe Esther is watching from somewhere, waiting for me to slip up so she has an ‘excuse’ to take out her anger on me. 

I pull back, chewing my lip. I want to get out of here so badly, but I don’t think I’ll be able to handle any more strain after what I’ve just been through. Sure, I don’t see her here, but how can I ever be sure the coast is clear in a world where nothing ever seems to make sense? 

Sitting on my knees in front of the open door, I try to gather my thoughts. If I don’t go in, I might avoid being punished— but then I’d never know if this really were an exit or not. If I do go in, either I’m free, by some miracle, or it’s a trap, and I’m screwed. I wish I had some sort of cosmic hint as to what I should do. 

A twinge of pain from my empty stomach distracts me momentarily from the dilemma in front of me. I don’t even remember the last time I ate— I think Charlie had made some sort of odd recipe a little while ago, but I don’t think I ate that much. On top of that, I’m parched, and my throat is scratchy and raw, a feeling I’d been able to ignore until now, when I’m beginning to focus on my physical state again. 

I glance around. All around me, in the strangely pleasant, lively, lush atmosphere, it feels like a cool breeze is gusting through, almost as if I were already outside. But there isn’t the sound of water anywhere, and I don’t see anything resembling a stream or a pond. Not even a puddle of anything on the ground. Wherever I am, though it’s far better than that horrible web-covered chamber, it can’t sustain my needs at the moment. 

I have to make a choice. Either I try and look for something to help me, or I take a chance and go through this door. I swallow the threat of a sob building in my throat and get to my feet. The prospect of searching, possibly for hours on end, for any sign of hope in this place, is too much to bear. 

“Here goes nothing”, I mutter, and I step into the tunnel. 

Like always, the floor is spongy and soft, giving slightly under my weight as I take slow steps further into the passageway. I resist the urge to place my hands on the ever-suspiciously-warm walls for balance. 

At the end, when my eyes adjust to it, there’s an identical door waiting for me. My heart is beating quickly enough to make me feel sick as I place a shaky hand on it... and it opens. 

Unthinkingly, with a small, involuntary noise of excitement, I push through and stumble onto the other side, hardly hearing the door swing closed behind me with a click. 

At first, I don’t register that what I’m standing on is plain old hardwood, blinking and scanning the room. But as soon as I catch my breath, I know. 

I’ve made it home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •••
> 
> It’s been a whiiiiile. I know this is short, but it’s only the beginning of the next segment. Stay tuned and lots of love for everyone who has stuck around. <3


End file.
